


One Day

by moon__craters



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, High School, Marvel Universe, Romance, Slow Burn, Spider-Man - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon__craters/pseuds/moon__craters
Summary: After Peter B. Parker's transformation into Spider-Man, he's just trying to keep the city safe while surviving high school.  One day he meets a pretty redhead who will change everything for him.Mary Jane Watson is the most popular girl in school, but privately struggles with her shaky home life.  The people she knows flow in and out of her life, but one day she meets a boy who is different than the rest.





	1. Chapter 1

Glancing at the clock, Mary Jane Watson swirls the mascara wand in the tube before painting her lashes darker. The bus is coming in twenty minutes, and as always, she is perfectly on time. She zips her makeup bag shut and bounds downstairs for a filling fat-free breakfast. Then at exactly six minutes before the bus will arrive at the stop, she shoulders her backpack, reapplies her lip gloss and flips her hair, and heads out the door.

She sits at her usual spot at the front of the bus, and pulls her biology homework out of her bag. People wave at her as they file past her, and she gives a closed mouth smile in return: friendly but not too friendly. She plans to spend the ride going over each question for the third time, making sure she will maintain her perfect GPA.

…

Meanwhile, Peter B. Parker wakes up with a start, realizing he has shut off his alarm in his sleep. Again. He scrambles out of bed, pulling on the clothes he wore yesterday, barely having time to see if they pass the smell test. He grabs his worn backpack and exits his room. Downstairs, his Aunt May is just turning to leave for work.

“Peter! I thought you had already left!” she says, eyes wide with alarm. “You’re gonna miss the bus!”

“I know, I know, I know.” He grabs a bagel and stuffs it into his bag, then he grabs another and stuffs it into his mouth. He takes a bite, then pulls it from his mouth to give Aunt May a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Love you!” he says with his mouth full, and they both leave the house together. Just as Aunt May turns to lock the door, Peter remembers his biology homework… sitting on his desk in his room. He tears past a frazzled Aunt May, and races up the stairs. He pokes his head and one arm into his room and shoots a web out to snatch the papers. 

“I got the door! You go!” He yells as he runs back down the stairs, trying to rip the webbing off his homework without tearing the pages. After locking the door, he runs down the sidewalk towards the bus stop, picking up speed and going slightly too fast for a normal high school boy. Hopefully no one notices. 

He reaches the bus just as it’s about to pull away from the curb. 

“Again, Peter?” the bus driver asks, exasperated, opening the doors again. 

“Sorry about that, sir,” Peter says, pretending to be out of breath. He surveys the crowded bus, searching for a seat. 

“Sit,” the bus driver says forcefully, “down.”

Peter slams his butt down in the first seat available. 

…

Mary Jane looks up, disturbed, as a tall boy falls into the seat next to hers. She scoots towards the window, hoping he’ll take that as a sign to sit somewhere else. He does not. She ruffles her papers and clears her throat, returning to her careful scanning of her answers. 

She successfully loses herself in biology for a while, but then the boy next to her is rifling noisily through his bag. Annoyed, she turns to stare him down and sees him pull a bagel out. Without a bag or even a napkin wrapped around it. Disgusting. She can’t even watch him eat it. But her concentration is broken, so she carefully places her homework in a folder and back in her bag.

When the bus arrives, she closely follows the boy off the bus, then cuts around him as soon as she can, flipping her shiny hair. Her group of friends begins clustering around her, coming together from different buses, and they pour through the school doors. Mary Jane makes a quick stop at her locker to drop off a few books, then heads to English class. Sitting in the front row, she takes perfect, color-coded notes that she knows the entire class will ask for later. But she only lets her friends copy them, secretly knowing that it makes the school compete for a position in her group. 

At lunch, Mary Jane sits as a queen bee in the midst of her hive, activity and conversation buzzing around her. She takes out her carb-free salad and begins eating, rinsing the greens down with cool sips of water. She interjects frequently, commenting on stories, telling everyone “how it really happened,” and laughing at the appropriate times, but no one is engaging her personally. But she is the center of it all.

As she throws her head back slightly with a hearty laugh, her eye catches someone familiar coming into the cafeteria, picking him easily out of the crowd. The bagel boy from the bus. He’s clearly out of place. So much so that she’s surprised she has never noticed him before. But she can’t stop noticing him now. Her eyes follow him across the room as he picks a table against the wall, propping his feet up on the chairs across from him. He pulls a bag of potato chips from his backpack and settles in, hunching over something small in front of him. He tinkers with it, using what she guesses are tiny screwdrivers and tools, while simultaneously stuffing his face. 

“Mary Jane!” 

She lets herself be pulled back into the conversation again, glancing back only once before she leaves the cafeteria, but the boy is already gone. 

…

After the instance on the bus, Peter keeps a low profile for the day, which isn’t hard to do because no one notices him anyway. He goes to his classes, hands in his homework, and spends lunch fixing a malfunctioning web shooter in the corner. His head is in the clouds, as usual, going over fighting tactics and city maps in his mind. When school lets out, he’s deciding which city sector to visit: the one with the recently broken-in bank or the one with the gang that likes to stir up trouble on weekends. He rounds the corner, walking fast, hands on his backpack straps, then stops short. Ahead, he sees the red headed girl from the bus leaning against the brick wall, cigarette in her hand. She lets out a long breath, the cloud of smoke spinning its way into the sky. He decides to turn away before she sees him; he didn’t get the friendliest vibe off her as she glared at him and cut him off that morning.

“Hey Mary,” a low voice calls. Peter backs around the corner, but stays to listen. He tells himself he’s just making sure she’s alright.

“It’s Mary Jane,” the girl corrects, her voice neither happy nor irritated. She just sounds flat. 

“Yeah. You coming to the party tonight at Mike’s? It’s supposed to be sick. You know he’s loaded.”

“Of course I’m coming.”

“You wanna go with me?” His voice grows a little louder, letting Peter know he’s drawing closer to her.

“Um,” Mary Jane laughs a little, sounding strained in contrast to her bored tone. “You know what, Aaron? I usually just go by myself. No one to keep track of that way.” She laughs again.

“Come on. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be going alone to that kind of thing.”

Peter tenses his fist, peeking around the corner. 

“No, I’m good. Thanks though.” She pushes herself off the wall and turns to walk away. The boy grabs her arm to keep her from leaving. 

Within an second, Peter’s there. “Back off, man,” he warns. 

Aaron releases her, startled, but recovers quickly. “Mind your business!” he spits. Mary Jane stumbles back, wide eyes darting between both boys. They stand in a faceoff, Peter slowly circling until he’s in front of Mary Jane. He will fight if he has to. After a long tense moment, Aaron mutters “whatever,” and stalks off. 

Peter turns around, surprised to see anger written in her face instead of gratitude. 

“Were you following me?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. 

“Uh, no! I just happened to be walking by—”

“And happened to hear the entire conversation and come swooping in at the right moment?” 

“It wasn’t a very long conversation,” he points out. 

She doesn’t say anything and flicks her cigarette to the ground. 

“See you at Mike’s party?” He suddenly decides where to be tonight. 

“Don’t count on it, Tiger,” she scoffs, walking around him and disappearing around the corner.

Did that mean she wasn’t going or…?

…

She would be lying if she said that encounter with Aaron didn’t rattle her, but if she didn’t go to the party, it would be letting him win. So Mary Jane takes her time changing clothes, curling the bottoms of her long hair, and redoing her make-up for a night out. By the time she’s ready to leave, she’s feeling calmer. She calls a goodbye to her mother, who has long since stopped trying to dissuade her lifestyle.

It wasn’t that she didn’t listen to her mother—she did, sometimes. This was simply her way to escape the shaky ground of her family’s home life. Her older sister Gayle had her ballet, and Mary Jane had her social life. Friends, parties, and smoking. Being adored as the center of attention: a position that she never held at home. 

As she arrives at Mike’s huge house, already full of light and loud music, she catches up with a girlfriend or two, and they walk inside together. Mike stands at the door, already stupid drunk, greeting guests as they enter and laughing too loudly. Mary Jane feels the room pulse around her with life, bodies, and music. Already, someone shoves a beer bottle into her hand, and she sips it, careful not to set it down anywhere. She addresses her friends and acquaintances with smiles and quick conversations as she makes her way around the house, being sure to greet everyone and take note of who’s here. She winks suggestively at boys and feels their stare on her as she walks away.

Mary Jane has never had a boyfriend, and everyone knows it. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t had her fair share of messing around. Everyone knows that too. The boys she kisses and flirts with know it’s usually a one-time thing, and she loves it that way. No strings attached, she’s free to do whatever she wants with whoever she wants. That’s the thing about a reputation. Once you establish it and maintain it, it does the work for you. Only occasional boys like Aaron will act like they deserve something from her. 

Somewhere along the way, she picks up a cigarette and puffs on it as she makes her way outside to the poolside. Dozens of people are already in the water, drenching their clothes and slowly losing them. She joins the dancing, spinning and freeing herself. The strings of lights hung up over their heads sway in the breeze, making it seem as if they’re dancing too. As she whips around, now standing too closely to the pool’s edge, she catches the eye of a familiar figure. She groans, stilling, and then goes to confront him before he can sneak up on her again. 

Stomping over, she shoves his arm, which feels more solid than she expected. “What are you doing here?”

Bagel Boy smiles innocently. “What do you mean? Enjoying a party, same as you.”

“You’re following me.”

“I swear I am not.” He holds his hands up. Someone hands him a drink, which he sniffs then sets down. 

She narrows her eyes at him. “You never go to these things. Trust me, I would know.”

“What? You keep tabs on everyone in the school?”

“You really don’t know who I am, do you? This school,” she circles her finger, “revolves around me. And if you knew anything about me at all, you would know to never go after me. I don’t go for guys like you.”

He flinches back a moment, and she feels almost bad. But she has a reputation to maintain, and this is how she does it. 

“Right. Okay, sorry about that.” He turns to leave. “But just so you know, I wasn’t ‘going after you,’ I was just making sure you’re okay.”

She stares after him, long after he’s melted back into the crowd. Has she ever met a guy who didn’t want something from her?

… 

Peter walks away, winding through the huge house, dodging drunk people and dancing couples. He’s not sure what he was hoping to accomplish here. Mary Jane is right, of course. He never goes to these things. His idea of a night out is swinging around the city, saving people or just watching out for crime. He stuffs his fists into his pockets, walking quicker and avoiding eye contact.

“...Mary Jane will go out with me. Just wait and see. I know she’s here tonight, and before you know it, another bedroom door upstairs will be closed.” 

Peter swings his head around and sees Aaron, walking with a bunch of his friends, bragging. 

This is not your place. She doesn’t want your help.

But Peter finds himself changing course and following the small group through the crowd back to the poolside. He tails them silently, dodging clusters of people and staying out of their sight. He bursts outside just as Aaron slides up to Mary Jane, taking her drink out of her hand and bringing an arm around to slip around her waist. She turns stubbornly from him, leaving her drink with him. Same as Peter, she probably doesn’t trust him not to slip something in it. Aaron whispers something in her ear, and she looks at him with so much venom, Peter winces. She raises her hand to slap him, but Aaron grabs it and laughs loudly, trying to cover up her resistance.

Before Peter can stop himself, his feet have carried him right to them. Mary Jane doesn’t even notice him yet, still struggling with Aaron, trying to wrench her arm free. But Aaron is stronger than her and begins to drag her away. Either nobody else notices because they’re too drunk, or they don’t want to get involved.

She’s going to hate me. 

Peter lays a heavy hand on Aarons shoulder, bringing their attention to him at last. “Get off of her.”

Aaron uses his other arm to bat him off. “Walk away. I swear, if you don’t leave now, you will regret it.”

Peter stands his ground, heart racing with anticipation of a good fight. Poor kid doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. 

“Let go of her,” Peter says calmly. Having selected his new target, Aaron frees her. Mary Jane gasps, massaging her arm while staring wide-eyed at Peter. He just nods at her and beckons for her to step back.

Aaron lunges for Peter, but he sidesteps him, drawing him away from Mary Jane and the rest of the crowd who has finally figured out what’s going on. Aaron lunges again, fists swinging. Peter dodges easily.

“Come on, let’s not get into it,” Peter says.

“You asked for it!” Aaron runs at him, but Peter darts nimbly away. “STOP RUNNING AWAY AND FIGHT ME.”

Peter takes a deep breath and smiles. Then he kicks out, sweeping Aaron’s legs out from under him. The other boy lands hard, gasping. Red-faced and swearing, he gets up, and they start to circle each other. The pounding music is still going, but no one’s dancing anymore. Aaron swings at him, and Peter blocks it, then punches him in the nose. Bright red blood drips down his face, and Aaron roars, getting angrier and angrier. They engage again, Peter striking him down over and over. Fighting a high school boy is a walk in the park for Peter, but he has to allow himself to be hit to avoid excess attention. A blow to the stomach knocks him down, and he lays on the pavement for a moment. What am I doing? I need to end this. He stands up and grabs the other boy’s shirt, raising him off his feet. Aaron struggles, kicking and punching, a few strikes meeting their target. Peter takes no notice, dragging him across the patio to the pool and dropping him in. A huge splash goes up, and the partygoers shriek in laughter and excitement. Aaron comes up, sputtering, but he knows he’s beaten. 

Peter nods at him once and walks away. People come up to him, patting his back and asking him questions, but he waves them away. He goes to Mary Jane, standing shaken in the corner of the yard. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, careful not to come too close. 

“Why did you do that?” She folds her arms tightly, hugging herself. She doesn’t sound as angry as he thought she’d be. 

“Not everyone stands by as a guy mistreats a girl.” 

“Most do.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Peter self consciously runs his hand through his hair. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again.

She nods. “And you…um?”

“Peter. Peter Parker. I’m great.”

“Thank you, Peter.” She speaks softly, a harsh contrast to her tone with him twenty minutes ago. 

Nodding again, he leaves her alone. His heart is pounding, but not because of the fight he just won.

…


	2. Chapter 2

Peter lets go of his web mid-swing and flings another one out, which attaches to the side of the next building. His momentum carries him faster and faster as he flies through the city. With the wind in his ears and that familiar elated feeling in his stomach, he can’t help but smile. Today he’s stopped two petty robberies and tailed a known gang member. Unfortunately, the gang member was only roaming the city pretty innocently and getting lunch. Peter makes a mental note to check on him later. 

His phone dings, hidden in a pocket on his suit, and Peter flips to the top of a building to pull it out. 

Aunt May: Can you pick up milk on your way home?

He laughs, always expecting the worst when he gets a message. He’s hacked into the police’s private lines to keep tabs on the criminal activity in the area, and he gets alerts considerably often. 

He types back, “yes :)” and continues on his way.

…

“Where have you been?” Mary Jane’s father asks, not loudly, but there’s that tone in his voice that makes her freeze in fear. 

“Out with friends,” she answers carefully.

“That’s not good enough,” he laughs.

She clutches her purse straps tightly. “We went to see a movie and then had dinner at JC’s house.”

“You frivolous girls,” he snaps. “Always out and about, spending money. You don’t know how the world works, you don’t know how hard I work for everything we have.”

Mary Jane bites back her words: Is that why Mom got a second job? Because you’ve been making so much money? Instead she nods and turns to dash upstairs. She has barely closed the door to her room when it flies open again. She whirls around, ready with another excuse at the tip of her tongue.

“Did he tell you?” Gayle’s white face appears in the doorway. Mary Jane shakes her head, motioning for her to come in and close the door. Gayle’s eyes are rimmed in red, which is an unusual sight. Her older sister never cries. 

“What? What happened?” Mary Jane is scared now.

“He’s…” Gayle breaks off to take a deep breath. “He’s making me quit ballet.”

“What?! He can’t do that!”

A tear forms in her sister’s eye and starts to slip down her cheek. Mary Jane rushes to hug her, a rare display of affection. Their family usually didn’t show their love for each other, but deep down, Mary Jane knew it was there. At least between her and Gayle and her mother. 

“He says it’s too much money. But he’s not working anymore! Why is he doing this to us? He makes Mom do all the work, but he calls the shots. It’s not fair.”

“I know. I think I just got in trouble for being out,” Mary Jane says. Gayle pulls away from her, holding her at arm’s length. 

“You are out all the time.”

Something about her slightly accusatory tone stabs Mary Jane in the heart, and she twitches out of her reach. “So? You are too, at ballet.”

“That’s really not the same thing. People always know where I am. But you could be anywhere when you go out. It worries them. Me too.”

Mary Jane scowls, not liking the direction this conversation is going. “This isn’t what we’re talking about.”

“But we need to talk about it. We never talk.”

“Can you just leave it alone?” Mary Jane tries to sound kind, but she sounds a little whiny, even to her own ears. 

“Well, where do you go? Where did you go Friday night? You were unusually quiet when you got back.”

“A party,” she mumbles, not wanting to go into it. “Did you tell Timmy yet?”

Thankfully, Gayle lets it drop and moves onto the new topic. “No,” she sighs, looking down to pick at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. Timmy was Gayle’s longtime boyfriend, who Mary Jane didn’t trust as much as she pretended to. Gayle changed around him, making herself smaller than she really was. That probably attributed to Mary Jane’s insistence not to get involved in any boy for longer than one night. 

Now it’s Gayle’s turn to be uncomfortable with the conversation. She stays silent for a few more moments, then slips out of the room. Mary Jane flops down on her bed with a huff.

… 

Finally something interesting is happening. Peter follows the gang member loosely from a few blocks back. He relies on his intensified eyesight to pick him out of the crowds moving along the streets. With the sky darkened, the burly man probably feels secure in his cover of night. Peter swings to the top of a building and keeps pace with the man from 20 stories up, walking quickly along the edge. The man glances from side to side quickly, not thinking to look up, and ducks into an alley, Peter leaps onto the next building top and follows.

The man enters an empty pizza shop, ringing a tiny bell at the top of the door. 

“What time is it?” he asks gruffly to the woman at the register.

She shifts her weight to her right foot and reaches one hand under the counter. “I’m afraid our clock is slow.”

“Luckily I’m right on time,” he answers, apparently speaking the right code back to her. 

She straightens, pulling both hands back into view. Then she jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Second to last table in the corner. He’s waiting for you.”

The man sits down at the indicated table, one hand stuck in his jacket. “Do you have what we discussed?”

“How many times will we do business before you trust me?” the other man chuckles. 

They pause as a shadow passes over the table. Peter drops slowly on a web, feet together and upside down. “Hello gentlemen! Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

They both stand abruptly, bumping the table and sending the chipped plastic salt and pepper shakers clattering to the ground. The first man pulls his hand out of his jacket with impressive speed, aiming his gun at Peter’s masked face. 

“I’ll take that! Thank you!” Peter shoots a web at the gun and yanks it from his hand, while dropping to the floor to avoid the other man’s shot. He swings his leg out, knocking both men to the ground, sending out rapid webs to cover their mouths and bind their hands and feet. He flips away from them, dodging the woman’s gun aimed at him, pulled out from under the counter. He webs her as well, gluing her hands to the counter. 

“Enjoy jail!” he calls over his shoulder, making a show of dusting his hands off and strolling out the door. “The police are on their way!” To punctuate his point, police sirens sound a couple of blocks over. He runs off, making sure to be out of sight before they arrive. They may both work to keep the city safe, but Peter knows how they feel about him. They would lock him up too, given the chance. 

Laughing out loud from adrenaline and the success of the night, Peter swings away towards home. A few blocks away from his house, he ducks into a alley and pulls his backpack out from behind a dumpster. He quickly shoves jeans and a sweatshirt over his suit, pulling the mask off and stuffing his feet into his sneakers. He slings the bag over his shoulder and jogs home. 

It’s well past eleven o’clock when he eases the front door open slowly, careful to keep it from creaking. The kitchen light is on, and he squints in confusion. Why is Aunt May still up? Her figure appears around the corner, her arms wrapped around her thin frame, hugging her sweater tighter to herself. 

“Finally home?” she questions, her brow furrowed. The bags under her eyes look more prominent and puffy than normal.

Peter stops short, his mouth hanging open like a child caught stealing candy. “Um,” he stalls. 

“Where have you been?”

“Just…out,” he gestures around lamely. She cocks an eyebrow even higher. “I’m serious! I like walking around.”

“At twelve at night?” she asks, her voice raising slightly hysterically.

“It’s not—“ he starts to point out, but her expression shuts him up. 

“You think I don’t notice, but I know, Peter!”

Heart hammering, he freezes, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He can’t force a sound out.

“I know you go out. I know you leave at night. Do you think that I sleep at all when you’re not home?” she continues, unaware of his reaction.

He’s so relieved he could slide to the floor. “I’m sorry, Aunt May, I just want to, I just like to, um. It helps me to be outside and moving,” he fumbles.

She softens slightly, coming forward and grasping his arm gently. “I miss him too.”

He covers her hand with his own, not trusting himself to say anything. Even the mention of Uncle Ben releases a floodgate of emotions, strong enough to overpower everything else. 

“I know you’ve gone through a lot. Too many losses for a boy your age. But I worry. You have to understand that.”

“I do, I do.” Peter grabs both of her hands in his, leaning his forehead down to her meet hers. When had he grown so much taller than her? 

His stomach growls loudly, shattering the moment. They both laugh, and Peter smiles sheepishly. “What’s for dinner?”

“You missed dinner. It was hours ago.” But she’s smiling too. Peter relishes the sight, saving the moment in his mind. She leads him to the kitchen and pulls a bowl of leftovers from the fridge. 

“Wait,” she pauses. “Did you at least remember the milk?”

Peter’s eyes widen.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Aunt May says drily. 

“I got it! I’ll go right now!” 

“You most certainly will not.”

… 

Mary Jane walks through the halls at school, her head in a fog. She was awake until late last night, curled up in her bed trying to block out the shouting matches going on across the hall in her parents’ bedroom. She’s covered up the pronounced bags under eyes with extra makeup, but she can’t hide how red her eyes are. She’s more withdrawn than normal, her head filled with overheard phrases and the image of Gayle crying, but she’s still surrounded by her group. Either no one notices her change in mood or is too scared to ask her about it. Mary Jane has never felt so alone. 

At lunch, she picks through her salad, her appetite missing. She catches the eye of Peter, the boy who stood up for her at the party, as he comes into the cafeteria. She tries to manage a small smile, but it comes out as a grimace. He just nods, acknowledging whatever greeting she just sent. 

Again, he’s gone before she stands up. She dumps her uneaten meal into the garbage, and makes her way to her next class. She doesn’t expect to see Peter right outside the cafeteria doors, but he’s standing waiting for her. She isn’t ready to deal with him and his messy brown hair and crooked smile. He has one hand on his backpack strap and the other stuffed casually in his pocket.

“Hey Mary Jane,” he says with a slight smile on his lips.

She resists the urge to walk right past him. She brushes her hair out of her face and turns to him. “Hello Peter.”

“You doing okay? Aaron hasn’t been bothering you, has he?”

She almost laughs. He doesn’t even know her, and he notices something’s wrong. Her friends won’t even ask her if she’s okay. “No, he hasn’t.”

He tilts his head slightly to the side, studying her. It makes her feel strangely vulnerable. “Stop looking at me,” she snaps. 

Instantly, he moves away from her. “Have a good day. See you around.”

She watches him go, glaring at his back. She doesn’t feel any better having yelled at him. Why is he so insufferably nice?

… 

Peter walks away from Mary Jane, trying not to feel a little cut down that she snapped at him. He was just being nice, and she’s so prickly all the time. He guesses she wasn’t kidding when she said she didn’t go for guys like him. 

“Hey Parker!”

Peter instantly recognizes Aaron’s voice. He takes a calming breath and turns around casually. “Hey man.”

Aaron visibly bristles. “Let’s settle this once and for all. The only reason you beat me last Friday was because I was too drunk to fight you properly. I demand a rematch.”

Peter stifles a laugh, his pride getting the best of him. “Oh sure, that was why I beat you so badly.” He stops himself. “Nah let’s not do this. You say sorry for messing with Mary Jane, and I’ll say sorry for throwing you in the pool.”

“Why do you care about Mary Jane so much? She doesn’t need you coming to her rescue. She can figure out for herself what she wants,” Aaron snarls.

“Yeah, she can. And it’s not you,” Peter counters, taking a step forward. 

“Why are you taking it upon yourself to be her personal bodyguard? It’s pretty freaking annoying!”

Peter can feel himself growing hot. He can’t start this again, especially in the school building. He can just imagine Aunt May’s face if she got a call from the principal. It takes everything he has, but he walks away. Aaron throws taunts at his back, but Peter doesn’t give him the satisfaction of answering. 

He turns the corner to find himself face to face with Mary Jane. She’s leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a ghost of a smile on her face, happy to have surprised him the way he surprised her. 

“I was surprised that didn’t end in another fight,” she says.

Peter lets out a long breath. “Yeah, I thought I’d let this one go.”

“That was pretty cool of you. I guess I wasn’t sure if you fought for me or yourself.”

Her words take him by surprise, and he stares at her a moment before replying. “And you’re sure now?” He doesn’t even know the answer himself. 

“Maybe.” She pushes off the wall and walks away. Peter watches as the crowds part to let her through, a few chosen friends walking up to join her. She doesn’t say anything to them but lets them walk with her. 

Peter shakes his head. He doesn’t understand her at all, and he especially doesn’t understand why he’s still looking after her, even though she’s long gone. 

On the way back from school, Peter stops at the grocery store and buys milk. He walks all the way home instead of swinging, realizing just how efficient his favorite mode of transportation really is. His hands grow cold from holding the jugs, but he doesn’t let them go until he sets them in the fridge. Aunt May won’t be home from work for another few hours, so Peter changes into his suit and lets himself out his bedroom window, grinning. 

…

Mary Jane arrives home from school, head pounding fiercely. Her mother is sitting in the living room, waiting for her. The unusual sight halts her steps, but Mary Jane doesn’t have the strength to talk to her today. She starts to walk past, but her mother grabs her arm gently. 

“Can we talk?”

Mary Jane sighs and presses a hand to her forehead, but nods and lets her mother guide her to the couch. 

“Did Gayle tell you what happened?” she starts, fumbling with the hem of her shirt.

Mary Jane nods again, her anger just barely staying under the surface. “He can’t do that—” she cuts off suddenly, looking around. 

“He’s gone,” her mother whispers. Then she straightens and clears her throat. “I spent some time reworking the budget, and I think I can still make it work. If I pick up extra shifts on the weekends, it should be enough.”

Mary Jane’s eyes widen. “She’ll be so glad to hear that. Will he let that happen?”

“He will have to. I can’t force Gayle to give up the one thing that makes her happy.”

“Why do we let him control us this way?” Mary Jane bites out before she can stop herself. She knows she can’t talk like that in front of her mother. No matter what her father has done to their family, her mother still holds onto him so tightly it has drained the life out of her. 

She just looks away, avoiding Mary Jane’s eye. “He’s just doing what he thinks is—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Mary Jane stands up abruptly, her pulse pounding in her head harder than before. She grabs her backpack and wrenches the front door open, disappearing before her mother can say another word. 

Fuming, she makes her way down the sidewalk, slamming her shoes on the concrete and making the soles of her feet sting. She feels hot all over, and the breeze does nothing to cool her down. Why does her mother submit to everything and anything her father wishes? Why does Gayle continue to make herself smaller in front of her boyfriend? If being in love was so great, why isn’t there any evidence of that in her life? Again, she vows never to let that happen to her. She’s been promising herself that ever since she was old enough to see it in her parents.

...


	3. Chapter 3

Deep in thought, Mary Jane’s feet carry her towards the heart of the city. The bustle and energy of the crowded streets help take her mind off her family and back to the moment. She concentrates on weaving her way through the sidewalks, feeling more grounded with each footstep. She decides to go get a coffee, and as she stands waiting to cross the street, she sees a crowd forming ahead a few blocks. Squinting, she tries to pick out what they’re looking at. A red and blue figure flies through the air, swinging on webs.

Spider-Man. 

Heart quickening, she rushes forward to get a closer look. She’s obviously heard of him, seen pictures and videos all over the internet, and knew he existed, but this is her first time seeing him. There’s always been a huge controversy over him: if what he’s doing is against the law or if he should be allowed to help the police. Personally, Mary Jane has never thought about it long enough to come to her own decision. She knows Gayle thinks he should be locked up or at least held accountable.

Mary Jane reaches the crowded street corner and cranes her neck back to look up and watch Spider-Man scale quickly up the side of a building, then leap off. Her heart jumps in her throat, but he shoots a web out at the last minute and swings back up, mere feet from the ground. He doesn’t seem to be doing much besides showing off, but Mary Jane can’t say she minds. She’s glad no one from school is here to see her childlike fascination.

…

Peter flips in the air, running up building after building, and swinging on webs. He’s noticed the gathering crowd and allows himself a few moments to enjoy their attention. Mid-jump, he catches sight of a head of very red hair. Wrenching his head back to get another look, he misjudges his next web shoot and scrambles for a second to attach another web to a light post. The move allows him to get closer to the people, and search for— there! It is Mary Jane. What’s she doing here? How many times has he roamed these streets and never run into her? He stops perched atop the post, his heart hammering. The way she’s looking at him, with wide eyes and rapt attention, is something he’s never seen from her ever before, especially directed at him. He hasn’t even allowed himself to dare to dream of being with her, but at this moment, he can almost believe it. He pushes aside the intruding thought that she will never look at him like that as Peter Parker. 

He whips his head up as a line of police cars race down the street, disappearing around the corner a few blocks down. He takes a moment to map the fastest route in his head, and with a last glance at Mary Jane, he backflips off the post, sending out a web as he hurtles towards the ground. It catches the side of a building and he throws his weight into the swing, carrying him up into the busy traffic of the city. He lands atop a large truck, running a few paces to gather up momentum, then leaping again. He pushes aside all thoughts of Mary Jane and focuses on the task at hand. The police have obviously already been alerted, but he wants to see what’s going on. If it’s nothing serious, he’ll find something else to do. 

He arrives on the scene to find three cop cars circled around a tattoo parlor, officers pouring out of the cars and speaking quietly into radios. Peter crouches down on his chosen rooftop and pulls his phone out, tapping into the police lines. Static buzzes for a moment and then clears.

“—got a call that he’s been sighted here.”

“We’ll have to make it quick, he may already know we’re here.”

“We’ve been trying to catch this guy for months.”

The officers walk quickly to the door and file in. Peter strains to see what’s happening inside, but the shop is dark, especially in the fading afternoon light. He hears indistinct shouts from the radio just as the door barges open and two police officers come out holding a large man by either arm. Peter jumps when he recognizes the gang member from yesterday that he beat and webbed to the pizza shop. How did he escape? Peter leans a little farther over the edge to see what’s happening just as the man raises his head. Their eyes meet. Peter knows he’s wearing his mask, but it feels like the man can see right through it.

“Hey!” the man shouts, breaking one of the cop’s holds on him. They struggle to get him under control again, but the gang member shouts again, raising his free arm to point at Peter’s rooftop. Peter’s blood turns to ice. One officer looks up, then another, and they raise the alarm. 

“Shoot, shoot shoot.” Peter mumbles, fumbling to put his phone away. He dares another glance over the ledge. The two officers are attempting to put the man in handcuffs. He’s protesting and swearing loudly, cursing them and Spider-Man. The rest of the police are gazing up at him, seemingly unsure of what to do. The man who looks like the leader of the force calls up to him. 

“Put your hands in the air!”

Peter’s stomach drops over and over. He has always done so well avoiding the police. How can this be happening right now? Why hadn’t he stayed to make sure the police had arrived to arrest the gang member the night before? He raises his hands, walking hesitantly to the edge.

“We’re gonna need you to come down. We have evidence of you interfering in police business. If you wouldn’t mind coming with us to the station, we need to have a little chat.”

Peter’s mind races. Aunt May will be home within the hour, and what will she do when she finds him missing? If he goes to the station, it will be over. Everything will be over. 

With the task force distracted, the burly man makes a run for it, dashing between the cars and down the street, zigzagging wildly. Chaos ensues as some officers run for their cars, others pull out their guns, and Peter leaps off the edge to pursue him. Gunfire rings out in the tiny street, thankfully empty of any people. Peter swings after him on webs, gaining quickly as he flies overhead. Every instinct screams at him to get away and leave. It can only end badly. But instead he throws himself at the fleeing gang member, tackling him violently to the ground. He can’t leave this guy on the streets if the police are unable to catch him. 

The man throws Peter off of him and tries to get up. But Peter’s there again, grabbing his legs and pulling him down again. He gets one punch in before the man slams both fists into his shoulder. With a gasp of pain, he lets him go, rolling onto his back. He can sense the police getting closer, but there’s still time for the gang member to get away. Shaking his head to clear it, Peter heaves himself to his feet and leaps on the man again. A bullet whizzes so close to them, Peter can feel the air disturbance. His shoulder is screaming at him, but he manages to hold the man down.

“Hold your fire!” the chief calls as they close in, moving as a single unit. Two cops slip from the pack and rush forward to handcuff the struggling man. Peter steps back, hands in the air. 

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll just be on my way,” he says casually, then turns to dash down the narrow street.

“Spider-Man wait!” 

Peter leaps onto the wall of a building then sends a web out to carry him away from the scene. 

That was close, that was way too close.

…

Mary Jane enters the cafeteria, surrounded by a noisy crowd of high schoolers. She leads them to their favorite bunch of tables and sits down in the middle, wordlessly inviting the others to gather around. She pulls out her plastic container of salad and munches on a crouton. Her eyes sweep over the lunchroom, taking note of who’s sitting where. Her eyebrows go up when she notices that Andrew and Jessica must not be together anymore. She turns to the girl beside her and points to Andrew sitting on the opposite side of the room as his former girlfriend. The girl’s mouth opens in surprise and she passes the news onto her neighbor.

Mary Jane continues her survey of the room, and her eyes stop on the last table in the corner of the room. Peter Parker sits there alone, holding a homemade sandwich in one hand. He seems to be deep in thought. Before she realizes what she’s doing or why, she stands up and crosses the room. Students part to let her through and a few stare after her, but she barely takes notice.

“Hi.”

Peter looks up, startled. His eyes go wide with shock, but he recovers quickly. “Hey Mary Jane. What’s up?”

“I suppose I was wondering the same. What’s up with you?” she answers coolly, peering down at his open backpack, papers threatening to spill out. “And why don’t you clean out your bag?” she can’t help adding.

“Don’t come over here just to judge me!” he says mock defensively, gathering a few papers up. 

She lets her hands fall to the table to help, shuffling the pages so they are facing the same way and tapping them on the table. She stealthily takes a peep at them, trying to read a few words, and is shocked to see every assignment stamped with an A or A plus. She quickly looks back at his face. Honestly, she wouldn’t have pegged him for a straight A student. Sure, she supposed he could be smart, but not this smart. 

“What?” Peter says, furrowing his brow.

“You— you uh,” she gives a little cough. “Nice grades.”

A smile creeps onto his face, starting at one side then spreading to the other. “Thank you,” he says quietly. 

Mary Jane doesn’t know why her face starts to feel hot, and she doesn’t like it. “Well,” she thrusts his papers back at him, and he sets his sandwich down on the grimy lunchroom table to grab them. She physically recoils. He doesn’t seem to notice. He stuffs them back in his backpack, a quiet groan escaping his lips as he shifts his shoulder. 

Mary Jane narrows her eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Huh? Nothing. Thanks for the help.”

“What’s the matter with your shoulder?”

“What?” Peter whips his head around towards the rest of the room. “You know they’re all staring at us, right?”

“So?” Mary Jane snaps. He’s clearly changing the subject.

“And you know, you’re the one who came over here, and they might think you’re,” he pauses, making sure she’s looking at him, “flirting with me or something.”

Her face flares up again and she jerks back. “You little—”

He shrugs, grinning at her. She waits for the anger to come flooding in, ready to be furious at him for implying she would have anything to do with him. It doesn’t come as forcefully as she imagined, so she pretends. 

“Get over yourself,” she spits, marching back to her seat, not sparing a glance over her shoulder.

…

Peter supposes he took it a little too far with Mary Jane, but he thought they were getting a little closer. Maybe not, maybe he just ruined it. Or maybe there was nothing to ruin in the first place. He sits on his bed, backpack spread out before him, the contents littering the comforter. He grabs up trash and granola bar wrappers as well as old homework from last semester. His backpack did need to be cleaned out. And was he doing it because of her? Probably.

He sighs, standing up and pacing to his closet. He opens a drawer and pulls out the familiar fabric of his suit, fingering it in his hands. His shoulder still aches from the fight a few days ago, and now it’s stiffening up. Shoving the suit back in the drawer, he pulls his shirt off and examines his shoulder, tensing his muscles and rotating his arm. The movement makes him want to yelp, so he bites down hard on his lip. Dark purple bruises are spread over his skin, trailing down his arm and chest. By far, not the worst injury he’s gotten, but it still hurts.

A knock at his door makes him look up. 

“May I come in, Peter?” Aunt May asks from the other side. 

“Sure,” he calls, throwing his shirt back on and crossing the room in one bound to open the door.

She peers around him, trying to see into his messy room.

“Don’t look Aunt May, it’s a disaster.”

“I can see that,” she says drily. “But look! You’re cleaning out your backpack! You haven’t done that since freshman year.” She walks through the doorway.

“Uh...yeah.”

“How’s school going? Getting along fine?”

“I mean my grades are really good—”

“Of course they are. I’m asking about the other stuff,” Aunt May lowers herself into his desk chair, studying the clutter and the papers crowding the walls. “How are you getting along with the other kids?”

“We’re not kids, Aunt May.”

She just smiles and reaches up to redo her hair in a low bun.

He heaves a big sigh and flops down on his bed, sprawling out. “There’s this girl I think I like.”

“Oh?”

“She’s really pretty and smart and cool. But she’s so popular and she doesn’t want a guy like me. She even said that. But that jerk Aaron is after her and I was just trying to help and—”

“And what?” Aunt May says sharply, as if she knows what’s coming.

“I threw him in the pool at a party because he was harassing her, and now he hates my guts. And I don’t know if she appreciated it either.”

“Peter! Honestly, I don’t know where this violent behavior is coming from. Ben and I never taught you that.”

“Uncle Ben taught me how to throw a punch,” mumbles Peter. 

She snorts, chuckling weakly. “He did, didn’t he?” she says quietly, more to herself than to Peter. “What’s the plan with this girl?” she asks at normal volume a moment later. 

“Plan? No plan. I don’t think she likes me,”

Aunt May cocks her head to the side. “She’d be crazy not to.” She exhales and rises from her chair, coming over to ruffle his hair and plant a kiss on his forehead. 

“Thanks Aunt May.”

…

As Mary Jane nears her house on her way back from the bus stop, she recognizes a sleek red car sitting in the driveway. Her heart sinks to her feet, and she slows her pace a little. Timmy is over. Whatever peace and quiet she was hoping for flies out the window. Slowly, she enters through the front door, preparing to slip upstairs unnoticed. She’s halfway up, darting quietly, when she hears a loud voice calling her.

“Mary Jane! Good, you’re home!” Timmy says from his spot on the couch, one arm wrapped tightly around Gayle. A football game blares on the TV, and Gayle’s face, hidden from his view, betrays a look of utter boredom. 

“Hello,” Mary Jane acknowledges him stiffly, turning back to the stairs. 

“Come join us!”

She glances at Gayle for help, but she’s staring straight forward. If Mary Jane ignores him, he won’t stop bothering her all night. She settles into an armchair next to the couch, and starts shuffling through her backpack to find some scrap of homework she hasn’t completed yet. 

“You got any food? I’m starving,” Timmy says loudly.

Mary Jane shrugs. 

“Babe? Grab me something?” he says to Gayle, giving her a soft shove off the couch. She unfolds her tall lean legs and treads to the kitchen. Mary Jane stares after her in disbelief. 

“Go get it yourself,” she spits at Timmy, hurrying after her sister. 

“What are you doing?” Mary Jane whispers, finding Gayle hunched over the near-empty refrigerator, going through a drawer.

“We have lunch meat for a sandwich, right?”

“For him? No.” Mary Jane grabs Gayle’s arm, forcing her to look her in the eye. “Why are you letting him order you around?”

“He’s not. He’s my boyfriend, and he asked for something. I’m getting it.”

“He didn’t ask very nicely. And he knows where the kitchen is.”

Gayle pulls out of Mary Jane’s grasp, closing the fridge door with a slam. “You know what Mary Jane? Leave it alone. This is not your relationship, and I wouldn’t expect you to get it. Especially because you can’t get a guy to be with you for longer than one night.”

Mary Jane feels herself heating up. “That’s my choice,” she retorts. “I wouldn’t want to end up like you, now would I?”

Gayle turns away, taking two slices of bread out of the bag. Mary Jane stares at her back as she assembles the sandwich, even cutting it in half at the end. Gayle goes back to the living room, and Mary Jane can hear them talking, but can’t decipher their words over the TV. Still hot, she prepares her own snack, finding a block of cheese in the fridge and a sleeve of crackers in the pantry. 

She’s halfway done eating when Gayle appears in the kitchen. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” she asks, hands behind her back.

Mary Jane nods, preparing herself for the apology.

“Timmy says he feels really disrespected by you. Could you not talk to him like that?”

Mary Jane’s mouth drops open, her hand shaking slightly.

“What?”

“I said, Timmy feels—”

“He feels disrespected?! He is walking all over you. I’m defending you. What about respecting you?” Mary Jane watches Gayle’s face, but she only turns away. 

“Please, don’t make this into a big thing. Just go apologize.”

“I am not apologizing. I did nothing wrong.”

Gayle looks over her shoulder and crosses the kitchen quickly, coming to stand by Mary Jane’s chair. “Can you please just do this for me?” she says quietly, pleading with her eyes. Something about it reminds Mary Jane too much of their mother. 

“Okay,” she gives in, "but you have to do something about this. Talk to him or something. He can’t keep talking to you like that.” She feels cold and empty, knowing Gayle won’t listen to her.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Gayle relaxes, leading her back to the living room.

…


	4. Chapter 4

Wind whistling in his ears, Peter flies through the dark city, the bright lights dazzling him and lifting his heart. He throws a fresh web out, letting go of the last one a moment before grasping the new one, falling into a familiar rhythm. He’s been especially careful to stay out of sight of the police the past few nights, and he’ll continue to keep a low profile for a while. But nothing could keep him away from this— it was a part of him now. His shoulder aches, but he pushes himself faster. He’ll heal soon, but the last thing he wants is to get stiff.

He’s not looking for anything in particular tonight, but he keeps an eye out anyway. Often he just goes out to clear his head. He’s thinking about Mary Jane again and the way she looked at him as Spider-Man. With awe, admiration, and excitement. He compares that to how she seems at school. Controlled, serious, uninterested. 

He lands atop a building, stretching his legs over the edge to dangle while laying on his back. He closes his eyes and tunes his ear to the street below, pushing thoughts of Mary Jane away. A dog barks, a car’s tires squeal, another car honks. The rumble of a motorcycle, music floating up from an apartment window, indistinct talking, laughing. And—a woman’s scream. Peter sits bolt upright, tilting his head. It sounds like it’s coming from an alley a street or two over. He dives off to the next rooftop and lands running. The adrenaline racing through his body combined with his enhanced speed sends him to the scene faster than he would have thought possible before he got bit. His body moves by instinct now, sending out webs exactly when he needs them. It’s become as easy as walking.

He crouches in the dark assessing the scene. A woman stands cornered in a dirty alley against a dumpster by a group of three men, advancing fast.

“You’re gonna want to tell us what you heard,” one of them says.

“Nothing! I know nothing! Please,” the woman pleads, cowering.

“We’re not the people you want to be lying to. Think very carefully about your answer. Now, I’m going to ask you again.” 

Spider-Man drops down from his hiding spot, swinging a leg out and kicking one man to the ground. He’s slow to get up, and Peter uses the time to web another man and yank him away from the woman. The third, the one who spoke, grabs the woman and holds a knife to her throat. She whimpers, hardly struggling against him, as if she knows how it would end. 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Peter holds a steadying hand out to him and raises the other in surrender. “Let her go.”

The first man launches himself at Peter, tackling him to the ground. Peter rolls with the momentum, twisting away from his knife strike. Then he leaps up and knocks the weapon out of his hand, sending it skittering into the shadows. With every turn, he glances at the captive woman, making sure she stays unharmed. He sends the man to the ground again with a well aimed hit to his head, hopefully knocking him out. The second man stays down, watching his leader. Peter turns back to him.

“Leave her out of this, c’mon man,” he coaxes, slowly moving forward. 

The woman sucks in a breath as the knife ghosts over her skin. She’s crying now.

“You run around this city in a mask, pretending to protect it, and you have no idea what’s really going on,” the man growls.

Peter stops walking.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve started? The Cartel and gangs are in turmoil, itching to find the one responsible for tipping the police off on our operation.” He yanks her hair to force her head back farther. Her eyes are wide with terror, her lips moving faster than Peter can read. It looks like she’s praying. Panic is starting to creep up his body as he feels himself losing control over the situation. 

The man’s eyes flicker to his companion waiting in the shadows, and Peter seizes his opportunity. A web flies out and whips the knife out of the man’s hand. At the same moment, Peter’s leaping forward, grabbing the woman out of his grasp and throwing her behind him. She might suffer a few bruises, but it’s better than a slit throat. 

Both men start forward, but Peter flips out of the way, using a web to gain a height advantage over them. A spinning kick knocks one to the ground. Peter leaps on the other, using webs to tie up his hands and legs. He gives the same treatment to the rest of them, tying them up more thoroughly than the last time in case one of them can still reach a hidden knife. He turns to find the woman, but she’s long gone, probably having fled the instant she could. Good for her; Peter hopes she’ll recover. 

Swinging to the top of a building, Peter uses his phone to send a ping to the police radios to check out the alley. Shaken, he turns towards home, moving among the shadows. What exactly did he start?

…

Mary Jane breathes out, watching the smoke spiral into the air and dissipate. Her headache hasn’t gone away since her conversation with Gayle about Timmy. She knows that Gayle won’t say anything, but she can’t bear to see her sister treated this way. It’s her parents’ relationship all over again. This is why she doesn’t get involved with boys, she reminds herself as she spies Peter across the way, just leaving the school building. 

I’m not getting involved.

It’s getting harder to convince herself of that for some reason. Why was Peter different than the other boys she toyed with? He seemed genuine, innocent.

Just then, he spots her, smiling and waving. She rolls her eyes, taking another puff on her cigarette, hoping to discourage him. He heads over anyway. 

“Is this your secret smoking spot?” he asks as he leans against the wall next to her.

“This is everyone’s secret smoking spot. You just noticed?” Her words come out a little harsh. If he notices, he pretends not to.

“Yeah, I don’t smoke. Why do you?”

“Where else do you get your healthy dose of death everyday?”

“Uh, you’d be surprised,” he laughs. 

She almost smiles, so she raises the cigarette to her lips again.

“I cleaned out my backpack.” He tilts his head back, looking at the sky. 

“Oh? Did you find any monsters in there?”

“By your standards, maybe. How long does a candy bar wrapper need to be around before it’s considered a mutation?”

She screws up her face. “You’re disgusting.”

“Says the girl filling her lungs with smoke.”

“Touché.” Mary Jane smashes her cigarette into the ground, putting it out. “What are you doing here?”

Peter sighs dramatically. “And here I thought we could have a normal conversation without you assuming I want something from you. I’m just hanging out.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“You don’t hang out with other people.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t throw anyone else’s adversary in a pool.”

Was he flirting with her? “Okay, fine.” She pauses for a second, deciding whether or not to stop the conversation. “So, what do you do?” she asks, almost surprising herself.

“Uh, what?” Peter kicks one leg up behind him to prop himself against the rough wall. He looks at her quizzically. 

“You know, what do you do? Just in general.” Mary Jane casually checks her fingernails, not looking at him.

He lets out a big huff of breath, staring back at the sky and slow-moving clouds. “Homework?”

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re not that boring. I mean, I know you have the whole loner smart kid thing going on, but--”

“You think I’m smart?” Peter interrupts, grinning.

Mary Jane hates how her cheeks heat up. “Seriously, what else?” she recovers quickly.

“I, um, I like walks.”

That’s somehow unexpected, even slightly vulnerable sounding. She glances at him, but he’s staring at the ground, scuffing one shoe on the pavement. 

“What about you?” he asks, their eyes meeting. Slowly, he slides his back down the wall until he’s sitting on the ground. The dirty ground littered with cigarette butts. She grimaces. 

“What?” he says.

“Do you realize how dirty the ground is? And you’re sitting on it.”

...

Peter laughs out loud, shaking his head. “Mary Jane.” The name rolls off his tongue, sending a tingle down his arms. He isn’t sure what possessed him to come talk to her after school, but he can’t help feeling as if they’re starting to get somewhere. Finally.

“What?” she asks defensively. He thinks it’s an act. Thinks.

“It’s just a little dirt. It never hurt anybody. C’mon. Sit.”

Mary Jane squints at the ground, using her foot to shove a bug out of the way. She tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. 

Aunt May had encouraged Peter to get to know Mary Jane, and he was trying to do just that. Ask her questions, get her to talk about herself, Aunt May had said. Be a gentleman.

Peter unslings his backpack from one shoulder and swings it around to his front. Opening it up, he grabs his sweatshirt. Then he spreads it out on the ground, far enough away from him to not seem creepy. Mary Jane is watching him with a strange expression on her face, halfway between a glare and a tiny smile. Peter hopes that’s a good thing. He lifts a corner of his mouth, inviting her. He holds his breath.

Mary Jane steps forward and delicately lowers herself on his ratty grey sweatshirt. She smoothes out a sleeve under her fingers. Peter’s heart is racing, but he forces himself to stay collected. 

“Your turn. What do you do?”

“A lot of things. I like people, parties, and knowing things.” Mary Jane gazes off into the distance, watching students board the waiting buses.

“Interesting. Knowing what things?”

“Anything I can. You know we’re gonna miss the bus,” she says. 

“Yeah, do you want to--” Peter clears his throat. 

“I probably should.” She stands, collecting his sweatshirt with her. “Thanks for--”

“Yeah, no problem.” He stands up as well, taking it from her. They wait a moment, then Mary Jane starts for the bus lineup. She glances back at him.

“You coming?”

“Uh, no. I think I’ll walk. Thanks.”

Mary Jane nods, then walks off, not looking back. Peter waits for the buses to leave, then he collapses to the ground, grinning. What just happened?

…

She doesn’t look back as she boards the bus, taking her usual seat at the front. Mary Jane replays the conversation in her head, assessing the tone and manner in which everything was said. What impression did she leave? Lofty, but not as lofty as usual. Peter Parker was wearing her down, little by little. And him? So innocent, so unknowing that it almost pained her heart. He didn’t realize who she was and what she did. 

Just before the bus pulls away from the curb, Mary Jane spares a glance out the window back towards Peter, and sees him sitting on the ground, long legs folded with elbows resting on knees. He was cute.

Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice someone coming up behind her until the seat next to her jostles as it’s being filled. She glances up, arms around her backpack in her lap. Aaron sits there, almost glaring at her.

“What do you want?” she sneers, matching his expression. 

“I see you’re spending more time with Parker. What do you want with him?”

“What’s it to you? Mind your own business. I see Hannah turned you down as well. Feeling a little sour?” Mary Jane adds to spite him. “When’s the last time a girl did agree to go out with you?”

“You stupid slut. You run around getting into everyone’s pants and you think you can turn me down.” Aaron leans in, flecks of spit landing on her face.

Mary Jane laughs darkly, moving away from him, pressing her back to the window. “Oh, believe me. I can. And you need to move.”

“Make me.”

Mary Jane turns her head and pretends he isn’t there. She crosses one leg over the other, her short skirt riding up her thigh. Aaron unashamedly stares. She puts her backpack between them. 

“What do you see in Parker?” Aaron starts talking again. Mary Jane stares out the window at trees and bushes passing in a blur. She internally counts down the minutes until she’ll arrive at her stop. Eight minutes, roughly. 

“What is Parker going to do for you that I can’t?”

Again, Mary Jane ignores him. She opens her backpack and pulls out a textbook, getting a headstart on next month’s literature reading. 

“Look at me, Mary Jane!” 

She closes her book on a finger to hold her place. “You need to leave me alone, Aaron. Whom I spend my time with is none of your concern. You may see me around, but I will never be yours.” Standing up, Mary Jane slings her backpack over her shoulder and steps over Aaron’s legs.

“You need to sit down, miss. We’re moving,” the bus driver calls, glancing back at her in the rearview mirror. Mary Jane holds onto a seat back as she carefully walks towards the front.

“This guy won’t stop bothering me. Can you make sure he doesn’t sit next to me again?”

…

Peter runs up the porch steps to his house and unlocks the front door. Stepping through, he throws his backpack on the couch and heads to the kitchen. A heavenly smell is wafting throughout the house: a confirmation that his Aunt May is off work today. 

“That smells amazing, Aunt May,” he groans, opening the fridge.

“Nuh-uh. No snacks. We’re eating early tonight.” Her back is to him, but she knows exactly what he’s up to. 

“Why, you got a hot date?” Peter jokes. “I might have a hot date.” 

Aunt May spins around from where she’s chopping vegetables into small perfect chunks. “No! Did you talk to Mary Jane?”

“Yeah! She let me talk to her today. I think we’re getting somewhere.” He sits down at the table, laying his head down on the tablecloth. Aunt May taps the back of his head and sets a cutting board full of garlic and a knife in front of him. 

“Chop and talk.” 

Peter picks up the knife and starts slicing the garlic thinly. His mouth waters at the smell hanging in the air. “It wasn’t a long conversation, but at least she doesn’t hate me anymore.”

“I’m sure she never hated you.”

“It’s weird though, Aunt May. It seems like she has so many friends, but she’s always alone. The whole school practically adores her, but they don’t talk to her.”

Aunt May hums, picking up her board and sliding the vegetables into a pot with her knife. “She’s probably lonely and in need of someone to actually engage with her. I wonder what her home life is like. Maybe parents who work all the time? Maybe an only child?”

Peter starts mincing the slices, moving the knife quickly across the cutting board. He hands it back to his aunt when he’s done, and she exchanges the garlic for an onion. “Do you think I should ask her out?”

“Of course you should ask her out! Remember, be charming but not too forward. Let her set the pace, but pick up on subtle signals.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Those are opposite things!”

“It’s a balance. She’ll let you know if she’s into it. And you? Just be you.”

“Easier said than done.” Peter chops off the onion’s end with a loud whack. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.” Aunt May hesitates, setting her knife down. She takes a seat across the table from him. Peter watches her face carefully. She seems happy but nervous. “I don’t know how you’ll feel about this, but you’re growing up and getting busier, and I have less to do around here. I’ve been thinking for a while about some volunteer work to occupy my evenings. The hospital can always use people…”

Peter grabs her hand to make her look at him. “I think that’s great,” he says, smiling. “I really do.” 

She smiles broadly at him, clasping his hand tightly in her own, eyes growing wet. “You’re such a good boy, Peter.”

He dips his head. If only you knew.

…

Mary Jane steps out of the car and slams the door shut. The window rolls down, and Gayle leans over from the driver’s side. “Be safe okay?”

“I always am. Thanks for the ride,” Mary Jane says grudgingly. She isn’t entirely over their fight, but her sister is trying. She even drove Mary Jane to the party tonight, which is something she’s never done. 

“Do you want me to come in?”

Mary Jane laughs. “I’m pretty sure no one brings their older sister to a party. But sure, if you want to.”

“Maybe next time. If you come to ballet with me,” Gayle smiles slyly.

“Not a chance.” Mary Jane turns and strides up the front walk, her heels clipping on the pavement. It’s another rich kid party, with neon lights and loud music that makes her heart pound along with it. She can feel the music before she hears it; the ground pulses with it. She hears the sound of Gayle driving off, and enters through the front door. A smile spreads across her face. Here she is seen, and here she is beautiful. 

“Hey Mary Jane!”

“What’s up Mary Jane?”

“Hey! It’s Mary Jane!”

She smiles at each person, laughing and greeting them in turn, her carefully curled red hair swinging. She grabs a drink from the kitchen and accepts a puff from someone’s cigarette. A few girls see her and start following her as she makes her way around the mansion-like house. She spots Aaron in a dark corner, chatting up some poor girl. Mary Jane steers clear and leads her entourage to the patio outside. There’s even more people outside, dancing and talking in big loud groups. She’s formed her own group, taking over one side of the yard, and people break away to join hers. 

Finishing one drink, she takes a break from socializing to head inside and grab another. She’s relaxed, losing herself in the buzzing energy of the party. She sips from her plastic cup and wanders back outside. A loud, upbeat song comes over the speakers and everyone cheers. The DJ turns it up. Squealing, Mary Jane lifts both arms and starts dancing, the sea of bodies pushing against her on every side. Someone grabs her and she lets herself be pulled away by them. She doesn’t know him but he smiles at her and holds her waist tightly. Mary Jane sways and moves with him, laughing while her head starts to hum.

During a flashy spin, Mary Jane catches sight of someone standing at a distance, not joining in. He looks lost and awkward. He’s not holding a cup and has nothing to do with his hands. It’s Peter. Of course it’s Peter. She stops dead, almost guilty. She hopes he hasn’t seen her with the other boy. 

“Hey! What happened? I thought we were having fun!” The boy makes another grab for her, but she walks away. 

“Uh, sorry,” she calls absently over her shoulder. She calls out “excuse me”s as she forces the crowd to part for her. 

“Hey,” she says as she reaches him, half shouting to be heard. He turns, almost startled. “What are you doing here?” she asks, not unkindly. 

“Huh?” He plugs his ear with a finger. She wants to laugh. He’s clearly not used to this.

“Come,” she grabs his arm and drags him away. Around the dancers, back inside, through the kitchen, and back outside the front. She lost her drink during the song, but she doesn’t go back to get another. 

“Thanks,” he laughs when they burst into open air. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know how you stand it in there.”

“Then why did you come?” She’s genuinely curious.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

...


	5. Chapter 5

Peter can feel the ground almost moving beneath his feet along with the crashing beat of the music. His ears are ringing, and everything sounds too loud and too quiet at the same time. Mary Jane is standing in front of him, looking at him expectantly, and Peter feels entirely unprepared for what he’s about to say. 

Sensing his hesitation, Mary Jane says, “Why didn’t you just tell me at school? Why come here?”

He laughs again. “I just figured you’d be here. Um.” His heart is pounding and his hands are tingling. Whenever he feels this nervous, he’s usually fighting his way out of the situation. This is completely different. He lifts his eyes to the sky. He feels Mary Jane’s gaze on him. Her arms are crossed and she’s standing with most of her weight on one long leg, the other stretched out. She looks amazing. 

“So, Mary Jane,” he starts. “I was wondering if you would like to-- if I could take you out sometime.”

Mary Jane laughs. It’s not exactly the response Peter was hoping for, but it’s not a mean laugh. She shifts her weight to her other foot and stares at him, a smile still on her lips and a sparkle in her eye. “Take me out where?” 

“Oh, uh,” Peter swallows. “What do you want to do? Do you want to see the new Star Wars movie?”

She laughs again, turning to look back at the party. Peter isn’t sure if this is going well. She faces him again. “Sure. I’ll go with you.”

Peter feels his face splitting into a smile. “This weekend?”

“Sure. What the heck.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. 

“I’ll pick you up?”

“Oh, you’ll pick me up?” she says, smiling. “And you know where I live?”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me?” Peter says, finally relaxing as they banter back and forth.

“Smooth,” she laughs. She gives him her address, and instantly Peter knows where it is, having memorized maps of the city long ago. It’s surprisingly close to many of the blocks he often patrols. 

“I’ll see you then.” Peter stuffs his hands into his pockets, still smiling. He can’t stop smiling. 

Mary Jane nods back towards the house. “You’re not coming back to the party?”

“Nah, you’re right. It’s not my thing.”

She nods again, just once. “Goodnight Peter.” Mary Jane turns around and disappears through the door. The music and lights swallow her up and he’s left alone on the lawn. The party feels distant to him now, like a portal that opens up on the other side of the house. He can still feel the pounding bass of the music, but now it just feels like the pounding of his heart. 

Grinning, he walks away. He starts jogging, and soon it turns into a full sprint. He’s laughing out loud into the night as he runs home, feeling so elated he thinks he could fly. Mary Jane is going out with him. Mary Jane is going out with him. He can’t wait to tell Aunt May. 

…

Slowly, Mary Jane returns to the party. It doesn’t hold quite the same appeal as it did before, and she isn’t sure why. She doesn’t want another drink, and she doesn’t want to dance. Her thoughts are following Peter Parker down the road in the dark. 

“Hey love.”

She turns to see the boy she danced with. 

“I’m Nate. Want to dance?” He has a wide easy smile. Once, she definitely would have said yes. 

“No, I’m okay.” Unfocused, she looks over his shoulder at the large moving crowd. For the first time since she began high school, a tiny flicker of loneliness beats at the edge of her heart. It’s a feeling she’s been suppressing almost instinctively, but it’s been creeping back. 

“Okay.” Nate shugs. “Want to do something else?” Then his eyes flit down then back up. “I’m down for whatever.”

“I’m not in the mood,” Mary Jane says before she can stop the blatant honesty. She brushes past him and winds through the crowd. A couple of people call after her, but she keeps going. She doesn’t owe anyone here anything. 

Once back outside, she digs through her purse and pulls out her phone. The too-bright screen blinds her for a second as she stands in the dark. She dials and holds it to her ear.

Gayle picks up on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Can you pick me up?” Mary Jane fiddles with the hem of her shirt, the cropped fabric showing off her lean stomach. 

“I’m on my way. What’s wrong?” There’s a note of concern in Gayle’s voice. “You never ask me to pick you up this early. What’s going on?”

“Nothing! I’ll see you in a minute.” Mary Jane pulls the phone away from her face, preparing to hang up. At the last second, she raises it and adds, “Thanks.”

She sits down on the edge of the steps, staring moodily into the street. The one drink she’s had sits unsteadily in her stomach, which is surprising, considering how high her alcohol tolerance is. Something about tonight has just got her all out of sorts. 

Ten minutes later, her sister’s red car comes speeding into view. Mary Jane stands, pulls her skirt down, and clicks her way over on tall heels. She slides into the passenger seat, and Gayle studies her with her thin eyebrows furrowed, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

Mary Jane sighs heavily. “Nothing happened, Gayle. I just didn’t want to be there anymore.” Saying that somehow makes her feel like she just shared more than she intended.

Her sister pulls away from the curb in silence, thinking over her words. “Where do you want to be?” she asks quietly, eyes on the road. 

The question seems to push the air out of Mary Jane’s chest, because she doesn’t know. Is there a place on earth where she feels truly comfortable?

…

Saturday night, Peter marches into the kitchen wearing a colorful untucked collared shirt, tugging the sleeves down over his wrists. He halts in front of Aunt May, eyes wide. “Why does this look stupid?”

She stifles a laugh, biting her lip and looking away, collecting herself. “I think,” she starts, smiling, “the problem is that you never wear things like that, and you’re simply not used to seeing yourself in it.”

Peter shakes his head, tossing his brown hair into his face. “No, it’s something else. It’s the colors, isn’t it?” He looks down, grabbing the hem of the shirt and pulling it taut. It’s missing a button. “Yeah, I can’t wear this.”

“I can fix it--” 

“Stay right there!” he shouts on his way upstairs. “I’m gonna show you something else!” He can hear her laughing, and it brings a grin to his own face. His socked feet slip as he slides into his room, grabbing the next option hanging on the back of the closet door. It’s a deep blue, not unlike the shade of the blue sections of his suit. That’s probably why he likes it so much. He slips it on, leaving the discarded shirt in a heap on his bed, then flies back down the stairs, jumping from the top step and landing lightly on his feet.

He enters the kitchen again, hands up and fiddling with the collar, trying to crease it back into shape. Aunt May claps once, standing up. “Don’t you look handsome!” She reaches up and helps him smooth the cloth down, lingering one hand on his shoulder. Peter sees a depth in her eyes that replaces the playfulness of their conversation. 

He gives her a small smile, lowering his head to look her in the eyes.

“I just think about Richard and Mary. What they would say, what they would give to be here and see you like this.” She removes her hand, looking to the side. 

As usual, the mention of his parents sends a stab through his stomach, but he pushes the feeling down. “I’m just happy you’re here to see me. And maybe they’re watching, somewhere.” He’s going to say more, but his eyes lift to the tiny digital numbers on the microwave clock. “Oh shoot. I have to go if I don’t want to be late. I know Mary Jane hates being late.”

Aunt May smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. “You’d better go. Have fun and good luck.” She pats his shoulder once more, and Peter leans into her, giving her a quick hug before heading for the front door. He snatches the keys from the small table by the door and glances back once at Aunt May. 

“And be careful with my car,” she adds.

There it is. Peter grins, swinging the keychain over one of his fingers. “You got it. Love you.”

On the way there, Peter fiddles with the radio, trying to find a station he thinks Mary Jane might listen to. The only thing he’s settled on is classical music, and that doesn’t seem quite right. But she does seem cultured. He sets his eyes on the towering buildings and skyscrapers, imaging swinging instead of driving. The thought calms him down, and he flexes and relaxes his fingers around the wheel, trying to keep his nerves at bay. His internal map leads him out of the heart of the bustling city, and he emerges on the other side of town. She lives just a few blocks away now, her neighborhood situated in the outer limits of the city. 

Peter slows as he drives up to the house Mary Jane had told him. It’s bigger than he thought it would be. He would have thought it would be hard to get such a nice house in this area, but he should’ve guessed considering the rich neighborhood he drove through. Suddenly feeling very small in Aunt May’s silver Ford, he kills the engine and starts up the front walk. Neglected flowers and bushes that must have once been very beautiful line the walk, crowding over onto the concrete. He straightens his collar once more and rings the doorbell.

It’s taken just enough time that he considers heading back to his car for a plan B when the door creaks open. A thin-faced girl a little older than Peter sticks her head out, almost scowling. He takes a step back. Did everyone in her family make that face? 

“Um,” he stutters. It beats him how he can face death calmly on a daily basis but trip up when trying to have any regular interactions.

“Who are you?” she asks suspiciously. He can see her socked feet crossing each other through the crack in the door.

“I’m here for Mary Jane,” Peter forces himself to say, surprising himself at how steady his voice is. He hopes he looks as composed as he sounds.

“Oh great, another boy toy,” she mutters, shutting the door.

Wow, okay. Peter lets out a breath. Now what? He turns around and starts back down the walk. He hasn’t gotten more than ten feet away from the house before the door opens again. This time, Mary Jane is rushing through and closing it tightly behind her. 

“Sorry about that,” she says breathlessly. She adjusts her top and swings her hair over her shoulder. “My idiot sister thinks it’s cool to answer the door when it’s for me. You don’t ever catch me doing that.” she rants, hardly giving him a second glance as she parades down the sidewalk. 

Peter scrambles to follow, debating the entire short walk to the car whether or not he should open her door for her. She stops right in front of the door, and it seems like she’s studying the dents and obvious age of the vehicle. Ears burning, he reaches for the handle, but she grabs it and swings into her seat. 

Crossing to the other side, he curses himself when he realizes he hasn’t said a single word to her. “Hi, how are you?” he begins, settling into the driver’s side and buckling in. “You look nice.”

Mary Jane glances sidelong at him. “I’m fine. And thanks.”

Peter winces. 

“We better get going so we aren’t late.”

…

After the movie, which was a blur of space and glowing lasers and lightsabers, Mary Jane and Peter walk out of the theater to a dark sky and a pleasantly cold breeze. Peter had bought them popcorn to share but Mary Jane hardly ate any. She almost feels bad for how awkward this “date” is turning out to be, especially because he wanted it so bad. He’s walking stiffly beside her; everything about his posture is a testimony to how uncomfortable he is.

She stops suddenly in the middle of the parking lot and grabs his hand. He looks down in surprise then up at her face. “Let’s do something fun,” she declares, throwing on a sweet smile. 

A smile spreads across his face and his eyes light up. “Okay,” he agrees easily. His innocence cuts at her heart.

Mary Jane threads her arm through his and drags him past the car and into the streets beyond. They walk along the multicolored sidewalks lit by neon signs in shop windows. The city lights are dazzling, turning to stars in Mary Jane’s eyes. Even though it’s only eleven at night, it feels as though the night has already lasted forever. Her mood instantly lifts, and her smile becomes true. There’s nothing quite like the city at night.

She turns to look at Peter and there’s a similar expression crossing his face. The beginning of the evening might have been rough, but she’s suddenly happy she’s out here with him. “So,” she starts, her tone light, “what should we talk about? Have any secrets? Secrets are fun.”

His low laugh rumbles in his throat. “I want to know about you, Mary Jane. What do you like? What do you hate?”

She pulls her arm away from him and raises it to her chin in an overexaggerated thinking position. “I like dates. And I hate being late.” 

He nods. “Fair enough. I think I could guess that last one.”

“That obvious?”

“Oh yeah. I like the city at night. And I hate mornings.”

She lets herself laugh heartily, even though it wasn’t that funny. “I love the city at night too. Something about it. The lights, the smell, the stillness. The feeling that it belongs to you and no one else.”

Peter stops walking at a street corner even though the crosswalk is lit up for them. “This night does belong to you. It belongs to us. What do you want to do with it?”

His eyes stay on her, and she laughs and spins away from him, making him run after her. She dashes across the crosswalk and ducks around a building. She can hear him close behind her, carefully keeping pace. “Where are you going?” he calls, but there’s humor in his tone.

She giggles and turns around, jogging backwards. “Wherever I want! Down here is the best coffee shop in the city, did you know that?”

“I did know there was a coffee shop, but I was sadly unaware it was the best in the whole city,” Peter says, catching up to her and closing a hand around her wrist. He spins her gently until she’s facing forward again. “Wouldn’t it be closed now?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t visit.” She marches down another block and stops at a darkened shop window. She leans forward, peering in and pointing. “Do you see that chair? I always sit there.”

“Do you?” Peter leans in, his face close to hers. “Then I’d pick that chair.” He points to the one next to it. 

“Oh no, you can’t be serious. That’s the most uncomfortable chair in the whole place!”

“It would be my cross to bear,” he says dramatically, sniffing. Mary Jane turns her head to look at him. He’s so close to her she can smell his shampoo. The deep blue of his shirt looks almost black in the night, and the only bright part of him is his eyes, gleaming and happy. She exhales slowly, excitement starting to rise in her stomach. He moves his head towards her, and for a moment, he’s almost close enough to touch. 

…

Peter pulls back as she’s leaning forward. Her eyes look slightly alarmed with a hint of embarrassment behind them. But he can’t do this yet. “Mary Jane,” he whispers, sliding his hand down her bare arm. Chills erupt across her skin and she shudders slightly. She’s not looking him in the eye, but she’s not shying away from him either. 

“Can I show you something now?” he asks.

“Okay.” She lets him lead her along the street, back where they came from. He takes her along a side street that connects to another main road, following a route he often runs as Spider-Man.   
There’s a flat-topped building that Peter likes to lay on, looking at the sky. He happens to know the door to the roof access stairwell has been unlocked for weeks now. 

“Where are we going?” Mary Jane asks, finding her voice again. 

“Trust me.” He doesn’t know how much she’d have to trust him to follow him around the city at night, but she keeps pace with him. “In here.” He pushes open the heavy door, the stairwell lit by dim automatic lights. 

“Do you realize how sketchy this looks? I barely know you.”

“This leads to the roof. I discovered this unlocked door a while ago, and I like to come here by myself,” Peter explains in an attempt to sound less creepy. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want.”

But Mary Jane’s eyes are lit up again. “No, let’s go.” She brushes past him and starts up the stairs. Peter turns his phone flashlight on as they climb higher and higher. He stays just behind her, letting her take the lead. At the top, Mary Jane pushes hard against the door, but it stays shut.

“I thought you said it was unlocked! You make me climb all those stairs--” she pants, whirling on him. Peter walks over and jiggles the handle, which definitely is locked for some reason, then slams himself against the door. It bursts open. She probably isn’t paying close enough attention to catch the lock flying off the door. He hopes.

The clear night air hits their faces, slightly cooler from up here. Mary Jane grabs his hand and drags him to the edge of the roof overlooking the city. They aren’t that high up, but the buildings and lights look whimsical and far off. 

“This is amazing. How did you find this?” Mary Jane breathes, starstruck.

Peter laughs a little, sitting down on the roof. She sits so close their thighs touch. “I’m very familiar with this city,” he says. “I think you’d be surprised.” 

Mary Jane hums, dangling one foot over the edge.

“Careful.” He wraps one arm around her shoulders, and she relaxes into him.

“This is the best first date I’ve ever been on,” she sighs. 

“Me too,” he quietly agrees. They stay silent for a moment, gazing off into the distance. Peter is imagining a night of web swinging and watching over the people of the city. He wonders what she’s thinking about. “Tell me about your family,” Peter says louder, trying to begin conversation again.

“Well, you’ve already met my sister,” Mary Jane laughs. “That’s Gayle.”

“Ah, yes. She called me a ‘boy toy.’ What exactly does that mean?”

Mary Jane jerks back a little. “Nothing. My sister just likes to tease me. You know, this isn’t something I like to talk about on a date.”

“Oh, sorry. I was just wondering. Do you have other siblings?”

“No,” Mary Jane says shortly. Peter can feel her closing herself off from him. 

“I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t. I think I should go home now.” Mary Jane stands up, and Peter rises with her, keeping one arm hovering near her shoulders. What did he say wrong?

Ten minutes later, they’re sitting in Aunt May’s car along Mary Jane’s street. She was uncharacteristically quiet on the way back, and Peter feels the same way as he did at the beginning of the night. Awkward and unsure. He doesn’t understand why she keeps shutting him out. 

“I had a really good time. Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” he says, studying her face. She looks tense.

Mary Jane nods. “Thank you for taking me out.” She doesn’t sound entirely sincere, the way she did on the roof. 

“Can I walk you up to your door?”

She turns and looks at him. “What, are you planning to come in too? Guys usually just leave me here to find my way back to my own door. What else do you want from me?”

Her sudden sharpness stuns Peter into silence, and he can’t do anything but watch as she wrenches the car door open and stalks up to her house. Then he gets out too, running to catch up, desperate to say anything to her that might show her how he really feels. To tell her he has never wanted or expected anything. That he really likes her. That he actually cares. That he wants to see her like this again, not just at school. 

But just before he can reach her, she’s opening the door and disappearing inside without even a glance over her shoulder. 

...


	6. Chapter 6

Mary Jane slams the door behind her, using anger to hide her hurt and confusion. Tears begin to blur her eyes before she can stop them. She has just ruined the one thing that was going well in her life, and she had to do it.

The worst thing was she wanted to stay on that roof with him. She wanted to tell him about her life and her family. About her father and her sister. About her weak-willed mother who was only trying to do her best. And about herself. Her constant need for validation that drove her to seek attention from any boy who would look at her. Because he was different than anyone she had ever been with.

“MJ?”

She hasn’t heard that nickname in a while. She wipes her eyes and whirls around to face her mother. 

“Did you have a nice night? Why are you standing at the door?”

Mary Jane glances out the little glass pane set in the door and watches Peter’s old silver car drive off. Why had he waited so long to leave?

“Oh, no reason. Yeah, it was fine.” 

Her mother takes a step closer and tucks a strand of tired red hair behind her ear. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What? No. Talk about what? Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Mary Jane sidesteps and puts her hand on the banister, preparing to go upstairs. 

“I know this hasn’t been the best home for you girls,” her mother calls. Mary Jane stops cold. “I try my best, but your father makes it hard. And I don’t talk about it enough, and I fear I’ve taught you to hide inside yourself. But I am here, and it’s important I say that, just in case you don’t know that.”

There’s a long pause. Mary Jane doesn’t know what to say or do. “I do know that,” she finally says quietly. None of this was ever her mother’s fault, and she tries not to blame her. “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being closed off as long as you open yourself to the right people. We weren’t created to be by ourselves.” Her mother looks at her in the eye, as if to make sure it sinks in. Then she nods and says, “Goodnight baby,” and walks down the hall.

Mary Jane stands frozen in place as a statue, her hand gripping the railing.

…

The city lights glare against the lenses in Peter’s mask, contrasting against the black sky. He stands on the edge of a tall building, wind whipping around his body, threatening to push him over the edge. He leans against it, staying perfectly balanced like he’s on the edge of a knife. He breathes in, and even through his mask, it smells exactly like the night of his and Mary Jane’s date. The memory sends a stab through him. After he went home and told Aunt May what happened, he tried to forget about it and her. But he keeps hearing her laugh and seeing her shining eyes when he took her to the rooftop. He can almost feel her leaning against him and feel the sparkling tension in the air when she tried to kiss him.

Peter takes one more teetering step towards the sheer drop waiting for him. Then he pushes off his back foot and sends himself diving off the building. He drops like a stone towards the street, headfirst with his back arching in perfect form. The wind whistles around him and the ground rushes up at him. Nothing brings his pulse up like a freefall, but as soon as it’s begun, it’s over. He sends out a web at the last instant, saving himself from becoming a mark on the street for someone to scrape off. He throws his weight into the swing and arches up from the ground, then letting go. For another few seconds, he’s up in the air again. Then he drops once more, and he falls into a swinging pattern, taking himself into the heart of the city. 

He doesn’t know what time it is anymore, but the streets are quiet and empty. The traffic lights cycle continuously, throwing different colors onto the sides of glass buildings, but only the occasional car drives through. Peter settles down on top of a lamp post, leaning his back against the post with one knee up. His other leg dangles off, swinging back and forth. There’s not much to see this time of night, but he takes comfort in the stillness of it. Like the busy bustling city is taking a deep breath before the next day begins.

He stays there until his body is stiff. Only when the sky finally starts to lighten in the distance does he come down. He shoots a web out and flies up to a building top to stay out of sight as the city starts to awaken. Cars fill up the street and people fill up the sidewalks; everyone is running somewhere. Peter wishes he had somewhere to run. He can’t help but think of Mary Jane again, even though he’s been trying so hard to push her out of his head. He should have known it would be this way. She did tell him she didn’t go for guys like him. And he should have listened.

Peter pulls out his phone and taps into the police lines. There’s the usual morning chatter, talk of making rounds and who’s partnering with who. He lays down and listens, filtering through to find anything worthwhile. 

There. 

“Armed robbery at sixteenth and twenty-second. Suspect fleeing on foot. Officers en route.”

They’d never get there in time; the robber would be long gone. Peter jumps up and takes a flying leap into the sky, his heart racing familiarly. He runs up the side of a building and leaps again, crossing busy traffic-clogged streets in no time at all. 

From far above, he spies a dark clothed figure darting the opposite way of the scene. They’re being careful, sticking to small streets and taking their time to look around carefully, but they don’t think to look up. They never do.

Peter tails them until they’re out of a neighborhood to avoid anyone getting caught in possible crossfire, then he drops from the sky like a hawk hunting its prey. He lands a few yards in front of them, crouched with one hand against the ground for balance. The assailant’s dark eyes are wide with surprise, and they stop short, hand grabbing for their waist. Peter shoots a web out, binding the hand before it reaches its target: no doubt a handgun tucked into their belt.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Peter says in a warning tone. He’s posed, ready for a new attack. But the figure just stops, staring into Peter’s eyes with one hand caught in webbing. Peter doesn’t want to admit how unsettling it is.

“Turn yourself over to the police,” Peter says. “This is your one chance. If you return what you stole, maybe they’ll go easy on you. Wait, you didn’t shoot anyone, right?” 

The attacker begins to laugh. It’s a low, dark chuckle. The sound sends a chill down Peter’s back. “The itsy bitsy spider,” the man sings, his voice muffled by his thick accent and the scarf wrapped around his mouth. 

“Yeah, I’m not too fond of that song,” Peter grunts, leaping forward and grabbing the man’s makeshift mask. Instead of protecting his identity, he only takes a step back to regain his balance. It falls away to reveal the man’s smile. 

“Soon you will find out what happens to little spiders when they go where they are unwanted,” he growls. “My advice: get out of the city while you still can. You are being hunted, spider.”

Peter pretends not to take notice, but his words send his mind whirling. “O-kay, whatever you say sir.” He binds the man’s hands, who doesn’t even try to escape. He just sits there, a smile in his eyes as he watches Peter work. Sirens wail louder as they grow closer, meaning the police took this long to find the guy. Normally Peter would be congratulating himself on the speedy capture, but it almost seems like this man wanted to be caught. At least by Spider-Man.

As Peter crouches in the shadows a safe distance away watching the police apprehend the tied-up figure, he notices just how bright the sky is. “Oh shoot,” he whispers, pulling his phone out. He should be leaving for school any minute, and he’s still blocks away from his house.

…

“Mary Jane?” Another knock sounds on the other side of the door. They’ve been coming all morning, but it had been so long since the last one, Mary Jane thought Gayle had already left.

She groans and pulls the sheets over her head. 

“Seriously, open the door or I’m coming in anyway.”

“That doesn’t give me any choice!” Mary Jane yells hoarsely, the first thing she’s said all morning. 

“So you are up!” Gayle says triumphantly, swinging the door open. “What are you doing in bed? It’s a school morning.”

“Stop acting like my mom.” Mary Jane turns over in bed, flopping heavily on her side. “I’m allowed to take a sick day once in a while.”

“You never take sick days.” The bed sags as Gayle sits on the corner, leaning over the bundle that is Mary Jane. “What’s the matter with you lately?”

“You’re being mean.”

“No, I’m being nice. I could just leave you here in your misery.”

“Who said I’m miserable?” Mary Jane sits up, shoving Gayle off her.

“Well you’re not sick. That’s for sure. That only leaves misery and heartbreak.” Gayle says the last part wistfully, trying to lighten the conversation. But Mary Jane didn’t sleep well and her head hurts. And she’s in a dark mood because of it and of every other reason ever to be in a dark mood. And possibly because of Peter and the thought of his stupid sweet smile.

“Can you just leave me alone? Go to school.”

Gayle squints her eyes, studying her. This only annoys Mary Jane more. “Is it a boy?” she asks, not breaking eye contact. Mary Jane wills herself to stay still. “Yes. It is. You just twitched. Is it that boy who came the other night?” Again, Mary Jane sits like she’s made of stone, unblinking. “What about him? What did he do?”

Mary Jane lets out a frustrated huff. “I didn’t say anything! You’re making wild assumptions.”

“No, I’m making correct assumptions. Deal with it, MJ, I can read you like a book. It’s a sister thing.”

“If I tell you, fine, it’s Peter, will you leave me alone?” 

“Peter? Interesting,” Gayle muses, staring up at the ceiling. 

Mary Jane lays down again, pressing her head into the pillow. She turns deliberately away from her sister, curling her legs up into herself, signaling the end of the conversation. She already gave away more than she wanted to. 

“You need to go to school.”

“Gayle, stop,” Mary Jane cries out viciously. “Get out of here, and leave me alone. I don’t know what your game is, trying to sidle up to me like we’re best friends. We both know we haven’t been close since we were kids, and I’m okay with that. I don’t need you in my business, I need you out of my room and out of my space.”

The light dies from Gayle’s face and she stands up coldly. Right now, Mary Jane doesn’t care. 

“First Mom, and now you, I can’t take it,” she mutters. 

Gayle turns back towards her like she wants to ask what she meant, but Mary Jane really must have really gotten to her, because she leaves the room without another word, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Mary Jane stares at the bedroom door, then at the walls of her room. Her headache is worse and she doesn’t feel any better having yelled at Gayle. Growling, she pushes her blankets aside and swings out of bed. She opens her door and pokes her head out, then peeks into Gayle’s room. It’s empty. She goes downstairs to the kitchen, padding along in bare feet and tiny shorts. The house is still and quiet. Her sister must have already left. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Mary Jane chants to herself as she runs up to her bedroom to find an outfit. Gayle was probably going to offer her a ride on the way to the community college her sister attends, which meant Mary Jane was already too late for the bus, and now she’d have to drive herself. She pauses, one leg halfway through a jean pantleg. Should she even bother going? She’s never been late for school once, not since freshman year. But the thought of missing English class and marring her perfect attendance hurts her heart.

In ten minutes she’s in the car, applying her makeup at the stoplights all the way to school. She runs in the door as the bell rings. 

…

Peter slides through his unlocked bedroom window just as Aunt May knocks on his door, asking if he’s up yet.

“Uh, yeah! Just getting dressed!” he calls, peeling his suit off and balling it up to shove in his closet. He picks up old clothes off the floor and stuffs his feet into sneakers. He’s in the kitchen within three minutes. Peter and Aunt May dance around each other as they prepare their lunches for the day. Peter makes four sandwiches and eats one for breakfast. Aunt May carefully packs a healthy salad in a tupperware. 

“I thought you were off work today, Aunt May,” Peter mumbles with his mouth full.

Aunt May pauses, one hand on the kitchen counter. “Today is my training at the hospital. My first day.”

Peter smiles for the first time in a few days. It feels good on his face. “That’s wonderful! Are you excited?”

“I feel like this is where I’m meant to be. This is where Ben would want me, I think. He would be proud.”

“Of course he would.” Peter comes forward and wraps his arms around his aunt. “You know, I’ve always admired both of you for your generosity. I’ve never met anyone else as kindhearted.”

Aunt May looks up at him, eyes shining. “Peter…”

“No, I’m serious. Thank you for being such a good example.”

Aunt May smiles fondly at him. “Cmon,” she ruffles his hair, “I’ll take you to school today.”

They spend the car ride singing to the radio, and Peter arrives at school feeling much better. The night out is starting to catch up to him though, and he yawns. He forces himself not to look for Mary Jane. He just walks through the halls and grabs books from his locker. It feels like life before he met her, and he supposes he has to get used to it again. 

He spends all of first and second period thinking about the man from that morning. As he walks from class to class, he sticks an earbud in and listens to the police radio chatter. He isn’t sure what he’s listening for, but it keeps his mind busy. 

By some miracle, Peter avoids seeing Mary Jane until he enters the cafeteria for lunch. She’s sitting at her usual table, surrounded by her gaggle of girlfriends, and Peter looks hard the other way. He settles in the back of the room and begins eating his sandwiches. He pulls out his biology homework and starts absently working through the problems. Once or twice he glances behind him, but she’s not looking his way. 

…

Mary Jane stares at Peter’s back across the cafeteria. She’s felt tense and off all morning, and the sight of him makes it worse. Nobody seemed to notice she was almost late, or nobody mentioned it.

As she watches him, her head begins pounding again along with her heartbeat. The room is swimming before her, and she can’t hear what the girls next to her are saying. She isn’t sure what exactly it is that makes her go soft. Maybe it was the conversation with her mother, or maybe the fact that she yelled at Gayle. But in that moment, Peter is worth more than her reputation. 

“Hey, sorry, I’ll be back,” Mary Jane says to the girl who’s in the middle of telling her about some new juicy bit of gossip. Mary Jane stands up on unsteady legs and makes her way across the cafeteria, feeling as though she’s crossing an ocean. 

“Hey,” is all she can think to say. It comes out quietly, but Peter turns his head instantly. 

“Hi.” He seems wary, and for good reason.

“Can I sit here?” She gestures to the chair next to him, where his backpack is resting.

He nods and drags his bag to the floor. Mary Jane sits down carefully and crosses her legs. “I need to say I’m sorry about the other night. I had a really good time, and it wasn’t fair of me to assume things about you.” 

“What were you assuming?” Peter asks, closing a textbook.

Mary Jane takes a deep breath, preparing herself. “I always told myself I would never be involved with a boy for longer than one day or one night. It’s how I protect myself. And most guys are okay with that. They take that one night and then leave me alone. I was expecting our date to be the same, but I should’ve known you aren’t like that. I do know that. You’ve always been different, since the moment you defended me against Aaron.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, bewildered. He’s turned towards her, and his eyes are intense.

“Because I’m willing to give you a second chance. You’re the exception.”

A smile creeps onto Peter’s face. He looks down at his lap, then back up at her, shaking his head. “Thank you, Mary Jane. I can tell this isn’t easy for you.”

It isn’t. It’s the scariest thing she’s ever done. “Well,” she says in a chipper voice, putting her mask back on. She stands up.

“Wait,” Peter stands too. “Now what?”

Mary Jane smiles playfully. “You tell me.”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Maybe you should plan the next one. I know you’d be lying if you said you enjoyed the Star Wars movie.”

She grimaces, laughing. “I did enjoy what happened after. But you should’ve let me kiss you. I think you’ll find I’m good at that.”

She enjoys seeing the blush the creeps up Peter’s neck into his cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “I-”

“Let me know!” Mary Jane scampers off across the cafeteria, back to her seat. 

“Are you and Peter Parker a thing now?!” a girl asks, leaning forward across the table, hungry for gossip. The entire table hushes and turns to look at her. 

“Mind your business,” Mary Jane says, but she’s smiling. Miraculously, her headache is gone.

…


	7. Chapter 7

Thursday night, Peter helps Aunt May set the table in the dining room. They rarely use it, especially now that there’s only the two of them, so Aunt May had to spend quite a bit of time clearing off the stacks of paper that crowded the surface and polishing the wood to bring back its old shine. The moment Peter arrived home from school, he took to cleaning his room, throwing dirty clothes in the laundry and shoving everything else into his closet. He made his bed for the first time in weeks, carefully smoothing the blanket flat.

He found some candle stubs in Uncle Ben’s old office, and he lights them now, arranging them in the middle of the dining room table. They flicker and cast moving shadows on the walls. Aunt May rushes back to the kitchen to check on the roast. Any minute, Mary Jane should be arriving. Peter thought it was only right to invite her into his world after she let him into hers, even just a tiny bit. Besides, there was no one he would rather her meet than Aunt May. And his aunt just about burst with excitement when Peter brought it up.

Tonight, he’s wearing the colorful shirt after much coaxing from Aunt May. He couldn’t not wear it after she’d spent time sewing a new button on. He tugs one sleeve down, then decides to roll them up. It takes him so long to get each sleeve even that Aunt May laughs and does it for him, folding each cuff in perfect creases. Peter’s just straightening a piece of silverware when the doorbell rings. He hurries over, messing with his hair. 

“Hi,” Peter says as he opens the door, then his mouth drops just a little. “Wow, you look--” Mary Jane has swept her hair into a bun on the top of her head, thin red strands falling down around her face. She’s wearing a short floral dress with sleeves that drop just off of her shoulders, and a tiny choker necklace with a heart charm dangling in the center of her throat.

She smiles sweetly and looks him up and down. “Nice shirt,” she smirks.

Peter ignores that comment. “Please come in.” He leads her through the living room into the little dining room off the kitchen. He tries to imagine seeing his house for the first time through her eyes, and he’s pleased to notice it looks nicer than he’s ever seen it, but he knows it’s probably far below what she’s used to at home. 

“Oh! And you must be Mary Jane! How wonderful to meet you,” Aunt May cooes as she enters the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She takes both of Mary Jane’s hands and squeezes, saying, “Welcome!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Parker,” Mary Jane says politely, returning the squeeze, then letting her hands drop. “It’s wonderful to meet you as well.”

“You look lovely! Peter, go stand next to her. I want a picture.” Aunt May pulls out her phone and motions for them to get closer.

Peter slips his arm around her, but hovers his hand over her waist. He can smell her delicate perfume masking the scent of her soap. He tries to smile nicely, but he’s sure he just looks awkward and star-struck.

“Perfect!” Aunt May slips back into the kitchen to bring out the roast. Once they’re all seated, they begin, silverware clinking as they dig in. 

“This is delicious, Mrs. Parker,” Mary Jane comments, cutting her meat into tiny pieces and spearing each forkful with a green bean. Peter, on the other hand, shovels food into his mouth almost faster than he can swallow, and Aunt May shoots a sharp glance at him. 

They make polite conversation over dinner, talking about school and future college dreams. Aunt May asks Mary Jane about her family, but Peter notices that she artfully dodges the question, saying something quickly about her sister. Aunt May catches the deflect, glancing at Peter as if to prove her earlier point speculating about Mary Jane’s family situation. Peter shakes his head subtly, willing her not to say anything. Thankfully, Mary Jane asks about the recipe for the roast, and Aunt May happily latches on.

After the meal, Peter tries to help Aunt May clean up, but she shoos him away. “Go be with your girl!” she says fiercely, forcing him out of the kitchen.

“She doesn’t want my help,” he says to Mary Jane, who’s still sitting in her chair. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, I really am good, Peter, you can stop asking now.” 

“Sorry.” He refills her water cup anyway. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

She glances at him curiously. “Is that where your room is?”

He nods. “I even cleaned it.”

“I’m so proud!” Mary Jane laughs, standing up. “First your backpack, and now your bedroom! I’m making a dent in your messy lifestyle.”

“Yeah, I doubt that. You can try, though.” Peter leads her up the stairs. He pushes open the door to his room, trying not to cringe at the old posters and childish things leftover from years past. He doesn’t even notice the peeling glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling anymore, but he can see Mary Jane looking at them. She seems to see everything, from the hoodie thrown over his chair to the old blue curtains blowing over the open window. 

“This is ‘clean?’” she asks, inspecting his messy desktop that holds a labyrinth of used notebooks, strewn pens, and whatever junk that has accumulated over the years. Peter cringes. “I’m just kidding!” she goes on, sweeping by. “It looks pretty good for your standards.”

“What do you mean, by my standards?” Peter pretends to be offended, but he can’t keep the act up. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sure your room is pristine, cleaner than a lab. You probably don’t have anything in it, not a single piece of furniture or even a bed. Nobody can enter, just so it doesn’t get dirty.”

Mary Jane laughs heartily. “How did you know?” She flops down on his bed, falling silent and crossing her legs. Peter sits down next to her, watching her eyes scan everything from top to bottom.

…

“So,” Mary Jane begins, leaning back lazily against her arms, “your aunt is really something. She’s sweet. You’re lucky.”

“I know. She’s the best. I don’t know what I’d do--” Peter coughs, “without her. I-” He stops. 

Mary Jane waits for him to say more, but he stays silent, staring at his wall. There are a few nerdy posters, but the pictures are what interest her the most. She stands up and crosses the room to get a closer look. There’s one of him as a little boy, she assumes, with a man and woman that look just like him. Then another photo of Peter a little older, wearing glasses and standing with a woman she recognizes as his aunt and another man. 

Peter’s just watching her stare, and she feels a little rude, but the way he’s watching her makes her feel like he doesn’t mind. Like he wants to share. He gets up and stands next to her. “That’s my uncle,” he begins in a low voice, pointing to the man next to his aunt. “They took me in when my parents died. I was young, five or six. I don’t remember a lot about them.”

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes. “What happened to them?”

“Plane crash,” he says simply, as if he’s said it a hundred times before. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says again. “Where’s your uncle?”

Peter exhales and looks to the side, out his window. “He died a couple years ago. An armed burglary he wasn’t even involved in. He tried to help, because that’s who he was, and--” Peter’s voice catches in his throat. Mary Jane brings one arm up around him in an effort to comfort him. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine. I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it.” She’s burning with the shame of bringing it up. His life seems to be one tragedy after another. How did this all happen to him and he’s still so good? What did a person have to be made of to survive all that? Stronger stuff than her, that’s for sure.

“Don’t apologize, Mary Jane,” he turns back to her, his face serious. The way he says her name, like it’s something more than a name, sends a chill down her back. A magnetic force seems to pull her forward, and she wraps her other arm around him, tracing her hands along his back. He pulls her closer into him, breathing into her hair. Every exhale on her neck makes her more aware of his body pressed to hers.

Mary Jane twists her arms out of his embrace and drapes them over his neck, pulling his face down to hers. Their mouths are so close that she’s breathing in his air. She reaches up for him.

He pulls away again, just a hair length. He brings his hands up to grasp gently at her shoulders and hold her back. “Slow down,” he sighs. “I don’t want you getting the wrong impression.”

“And what impression would that be?” she whispers, her words falling suspended in midair between them.

“That you’re here in my room so I can take advantage of you. I brought you up here to share my world with you. I want to tell you things. I want you to know me.” He pulls back again to look her in the eyes. “You told me I get a second chance. I don’t intend to waste it.”

“You can tell me things and kiss me, you know,” she says, tilting her head to one side. “You are a very strange boy, Peter Parker.” 

He laughs quietly. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Why don’t you tell me then?” Mary Jane says coyly, trying to get more out of him. But Peter just leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead, then unwraps his arms and steps away. Mary Jane feels cold suddenly without him.

“Why don’t you tell me about you?” Peter falls back on his bed, patting the spot next to him. Mary Jane sits down a little too close, her thigh brushing against his. “Anything you want to say, I’ll listen.” He folds his arms behind his head. 

She stares up, taking in the old star stickers and a few cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. Her house may be nicer than his, but this place feels like a home. She feels comfortable under this roof, with the sounds of Aunt May washing up in the kitchen below and Peter breathing steadily next to her. His relationship with his aunt astounds her, the easy way they talk and laugh. She compares the meal they just shared with a dinner at home. Her father scolding her mother for whatever he dislikes, Gayle and Mary Jane silent to remain out of the way, the tension in the air so thick it was suffocating. She couldn’t even remember the last time they had a family meal. Nowadays, everyone just ate whenever they wanted, preferably alone. When her father was home, which was almost never, he ate in front of the TV with the volume turned up so loud it prevented anyone from talking to him even if they wanted to.

How could she explain that to Peter? Sweet, kindhearted Peter, who had suffered such hardships in his own life but had come back from it better than anyone she’d ever met. In his small house that felt like warmth, how could she explain the iciness of her own? She didn’t know, but she could try.

“At my house,” she begins slowly and painfully, “it isn’t like this.” Peter’s looking at her, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits for her to continue. “My father,” she pauses again, looking up at the ceiling again to avoid Peter’s gaze, “makes sure of that. He rules with fear and manipulation, forming us to his every whim. He’s not around very often, but he has us wrapped in his cage so tightly, we don’t know how to exist differently. I’m not accepted at home, everything I say and do and am is wrong.” She says the last part in a whisper, tears burning in her eyes. She never learned how to be open with her feelings, and it is a dam breaking free.

Now that she’s talking, she can’t stop. The words and secrets flow out of her, everything that she has kept carefully folded away in her heart for so long. She talks about her mother and her inability to stand up for herself, and Gayle’s escape in her dance. She tells him about herself and the boys she’s been with who never cared for her past what she could give them. Peter listens quietly, eyes intense but friendly. There’s no judgment in them, just quiet understanding.

…

Peter lays in bed that night with his eyes wide open, his room softly illuminated by moonlight. He replays the night with Mary Jane over and over in his head. The dinner went so much better than he expected, and he dreams of the time they spent in his room, talking until late into the evening. The colors of the fading sun had dragged shadows in and out of his room as they talked, and it wasn’t until it fell dark that Mary Jane had picked herself up and said she should go. Peter had hugged her again, trying to express to her how he felt. After the things she told him, even just the beginning of the sea of hurt in her life, he wanted her to know it was okay, the way she felt and the way she was. Instead of being repelled by her, the stories lined up in his head, slowly explaining away her behaviors and actions. 

He had held her face in his hands, so gently, and told her it didn’t matter. None of the things she had told him. Because he could look past it and see her for who she really was. Not the stuck up girl she pretended to be in school or the heartless veil she put on for dates. She had showed him who she really was, even just for a few short hours. And it was enough for him. 

But as she explained pulling a mask over her heart to avoid getting hurt, Peter thought of how he pulls a mask over his face to try to keep others from suffering. Listening to the interwoven stories of her family and childhood, Peter had to stop himself from tensing his muscles as he thought of all the hurt he couldn’t stop her from experiencing. He could only stop the outward pain that would harm her if a man came after her with a knife, but it would never help against her father and his sharp words and twisting rules, forcing her family to live in fear of him. 

One day, he vows, One day I’ll find a way to protect her. 

Sirens wail outside as police pass under his window, bathing his room in red and blue lights. Peter is out of bed in an instant, and in another, he’s standing by the open window, watching the patrol cars speed away out of view. He grabs his phone and turns the volume low. 

Get down to precinct sixty-eight immediately. There’s been a jailbreak, we don’t know how many yet, but at least six prisoners are missing. 

Peter’s blood turns cold. The man he just caught was placed in a holding cell at that precinct before his awaiting trial and transfer to a more secure facility. No wonder he didn’t struggle against his arrest; he was planning to get his buddies out. Now him and five of his friends were freely roaming the streets of the city, probably putting into action the next step their plan.

Within five minutes, his room is empty, the curtains flapping in the breeze, as Spider-Man flies down the street on webs in pursuit of the sirens. 

...

“Gayle?” Mary Jane whispers, gently turning the knob of her older sister’s bedroom door. It creaks open softly. She pokes her head in. “Are you up?”

The bundle in the middle of the bed shifts. “What do you want, Mary Jane? Do you have any idea how late it is?”

“Yes, I just got home from Peter’s. I just--” Mary Jane pauses. “I just feel like I need to talk to you.”

“What on earth gave you that impression?” Gayle mutters grumpily. But she sits up and scoots over. Mary Jane needs no further invitation. She shuffles over and gets in bed next to Gayle. The blankets are warm and Mary Jane snuggles in, as she once did when she was little. She remembers how she used to sneak into Gayle’s room when their parents were fighting and beg to sleep with her. Gayle never turned her away.

Guilt rolls through Mary Jane when she thinks of the way she treated her the other day. “I need to say I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever, MJ. You were right, that’s just the way it is now.”

“Do you ever wish it wasn’t?” Mary Jane whispers. 

Gayle turns to her sharply. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who pushes everyone and everything away. You don’t think me and mom haven’t tried, haven’t done our best? You’re so selfish, so freaking selfish.”

Mary Jane opens her mouth to defend herself, but Gayle presses on.

“Don’t say it’s not true. All you do is use people, me included.”

Cold grips Mary Jane’s stomach. It was true, Gayle is right, everything is right. Just a few hours ago, Peter was holding her as she cried, telling her that it was okay. But it wasn’t okay. How many people had she ruined? 

...


	8. Chapter 8

The police cars, flashing lights and loud sirens, are heading straight for the station in the sixty-eighth precinct. Probably to group together and come up with an organized search plan and send different patrols out to each sector of the city. But Peter knows that while they do that, even though it is a necessary step, the criminals slip farther away. If they don’t find the escapees tonight within the hour, the chances of finding them are close to zero. Men like that know how to disappear and how to stay invisible. But right now, they will be the most worried about putting as much distance between them and the precinct as possible. 

Peter uses height to his advantage, soaring over the streets on webs, scanning each alley with a bird’s eye view. He forces himself to forget everything else and focus on the task at hand. His breathing regulates and he falls into a dance of swinging on webs and flipping to the top of buildings. This is his city and he will do anything to protect it.

He’s finished searching the closest blocks in record time, taking note of where police are being deployed and letting them search those areas. It’s more efficient, and he also doesn’t have time to be caught by the authorities tonight. Peter moves to the next block, entering a sector near the water. If they’re smart, they might head down here, using the smells of rotting fish and seawater and sounds of the docked ships clanging against each other to their advantage. 

Peter lands silently on the top of a large flat building, scanning the night through his mask. The scene remains still, but he stays where he is, melting into the shadows. He waits in a crouch, one hand down on the gritty concrete roof, and the other ready to shoot webs. 

Under one of the dim street lights far off, Peter can barely make out a blur of movement. He hones in, leaning forward, waiting for the movement to appear again. Sure enough, it happens again, slightly closer. Straining, he can just make out a group of men. He was right; they’ve come here.

Silently, he hops over the edge and lands on the street level, straightening quickly and moving forward to intercept them. Six against one wasn’t great odds, but they didn’t know who they were fighting, and if he caught them by surprise, the whole thing could be over quickly. Peter didn’t even want to think about having to wake up for school the next morning.

The six men walk in a loose formation, protecting each other, with one man in the back turning to look over his shoulder occasionally. The man in front walks with a heavy, confident gait, his large boots landing on the worn sea-washed pavement. He’s leading them to something, a rendezvous point or a secure location to stay low for the next few weeks. Peter will do everything he can to make sure they don’t arrive. He recognizes the leader as the man he caught a few days ago, and his pulse quickens at the sight of his face, cold and self-assured. He’ll have to intercept the group from the side to avoid being seen by the back lookout. The men on the left and right are watching too, but Peter can tell they aren’t as vigilant. He runs ahead of them up a side street, moving parallel to them. He scans the buildings and chooses a medium-sized one far enough ahead with a flat top. Quickly crawling up using his fingertips and feet, Peter is sure to stay quiet and low. Once on top, he settles down, awaiting the approaching group.

…

Mary Jane walks slowly down the familiar hall to her bedroom. She lifts her hands and takes bobby pins out of her bun, one by one, her left hand cupped to hold them. Her hair falls loose down her back and across her face, kinked and waved from the style. She grounds herself in the moment, combing her fingers through the strands, trying not to let Gayle’s words overwhelm her. The truth of what was said crashes over her like waves, drowning out every other thought and roaring in her ears. I’m selfish, so selfish. She had always felt so justified in her pain, holding it above her head as a shield, excusing her every action. 

She gently swings her bedroom door open, the four walls closing in on her. She had grown up in this house, every groove in the wooden floors and crease in the walls memorized, familiar, hers. Right now, it repulsed her. All the memories of what had happened to her, what her father had done, what she had done hung in the air, thick as fog. Gayle had suffered just as much as her, and was it possible, maybe more? And her mother-- Mary Jane couldn’t think of it. Tears trail silently down her cheeks, bringing smears of carefully applied makeup with them. 

Was it just hours ago that she had sat in the dying light of Peter Parker’s bedroom, explaining every tear in her heart to the point of exhaustion, everything she wished she could have said, to a boy who accepted her for her? Once she started, she didn’t want to stop. She wanted him to know her, just as he had said he wanted her to know him. He welcomed her into his house, his world, his room and childhood, when he hadn’t known whether or not she would even respond to it or accept him. But Peter was different. He had held her gently in his arms, but pulling back when she asked for more. She really wanted to kiss him, especially now that she thought about it. Mary Jane had kissed plenty of boys, but never a boy like him. Never a boy who really seemed like he cared about her and not just what he could get out of her.

Mary Jane takes off her dress and shoes, wiping away every trace of makeup on her face. She wraps herself in an oversized t-shirt and lays in bed, staring at the ceiling. Streetlamp light filters through the trees and creates patterns on her crisp walls. Sirens wail distantly. In this moment, her heart feels as if it were truly opened up, laid out before her. She sees herself in a way she hadn’t before. She has a choice, she sees that clearly now. She has a choice to open herself up to her mother and sister. What if Mary Jane spent more time with them instead of out with people she hardly knew and who didn’t even care about her? Could she reverse the damage, or maybe start to? She has a choice to break her one dating rule, and let Peter into her life. Could he change things, change her into a person she wished she could be?

…

“Just up ahead.”

“Quiet--”

“Do a quick check around back.”

Soft murmurs reach Peter’s ears where he lies in wait, back pressed against the large vent jutting out onto the roof. He rises and steps around the vent, then drops off the edge of the building. He lands with a soft thud between his building and the next, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. He melts back into the shadows in the tight alleyway and watches as the group of men pass. 

After the first man, the leader, strides past the opening, Peter makes his move. Suddenly he reaches both arms out and shoots webs that attach to the walls of the two buildings. At the noise, the two men at the side of the group turn and are met with Peter’s feet slamming into their chests. They go down instantly, and Peter uses the momentum to swing around, pivoting on another web. He crashes into another man who lets out a shout of surprise. He wraps a line of webbing around his neck and pulls it taut. The group is shouting and swearing, the downed men scrambling to flee while they can. Peter’s senses are at a height, feeding him information faster than he can process it and decide what to do. He just does. Dragging the choking man with him, he slams another to the ground, firing webs rapidly to pin him there. The leader of the group pulls out a gun and aims at Peter. Without blinking, Peter throws himself to the ground, not spending longer than a second in one place to be an easy target. Gunshots ring in Peter’s ears, narrowly missing him. He stays fluid like water, dodging while taking men down one at a time. 

Soon he’s left with two men, one standing in front of the leader, protecting him. The man Peter had already captured once has a wicked glint in his eye, not seeming even slightly inconvenienced by Peter’s intervening. He’s given up firing, but he holds his gun at the ready. 

“I figured you’d be back, spider. You didn’t listen to my advice.” The man’s calm steady voice unnerves Peter worse than the gun in his hand. Peter steps to the left, keeping them moving in a circle and anticipating his next move. He flexes his fingers, mind whirling.

“I’m not leaving the city, if that’s what you’re trying to tell me to do.”

The man laughs, a low gruff sound. Peter tracks his eyes, and the moment they leave Peter, he springs forward, launching himself at his “bodyguard.” He tackles him to the ground, rolling out of the way in anticipation of the bullet that lands in the pavement where his leg was a split second ago. The gun fires again, and the man Peter’s holding screams. Warm blood trails from his stomach onto Peter’s arms and hands. He scrambles away, horrified. Panic starts to set into his mind, replacing his sharp senses with dullness. That could’ve been me. I wouldn’t have come home to Aunt May. Just like Uncle Ben. She would be alone. He shakes his head a few times, backing away. 

“That was a warning shot. I could’ve hit you,” the man says.

No. No, he couldn’t have, Peter reasons. How many times was he aiming for me and missed? 

The man looks down, reloading his weapon. Peter knows he’s taking advantage of his shakiness, knowing he can take his eyes off Peter for a second. And shamefully, Peter stands there, not yet trusting himself to move. For the first time in a while as Spider-Man, he feels like his age, just a kid. He takes a big breath, thinking of Aunt May, her sweet smile, her warm hands. He thinks of Mary Jane, beautiful red hair and eyes lit with excitement.

The man cocks the gun, raising it up again.

Peter forces himself to think of Uncle Ben. His contorted body laying cold on the street, the blood seeping into the pavement. C’mon. C’mon, Spider-Man.

With a roar, Peter dives at the man, keeping his eye on the man’s finger. His reflexes are fast, but not as fast as Peter’s. The man pulls the trigger, but Peter has shot a web, pulling him to the side. He’s on him before the man can even register what happened. He fires again once into the air, then Peter wrenches the gun away from him. He slams his head down into the pavement, bloodying his nose. Peter pulls his head up then slams it back down again and again, until he’s knocked out. 

Breathing heavily, he stands up. The blood on his arms seems to burn right through his suit. Peter doesn’t know how long he stands there, but he only leaves once he hears the sirens growing close. The gunshots have attracted the police’s attention, and for once Peter hadn’t called them. The ground is strewn with the men’s unconscious bodies and webbing. He can’t bring himself to check if the shot man is still breathing.

Peter curses himself, heading home. He can’t freeze up like that again. A mistake like that will literally cost him his life. He knows Aunt May will be asleep, but he can’t help wishing she would be up for him to just see her. To see her face and see she’s alive and well. He sways, feeling light.

It’s rare for him to be so affected, but it used to happen a lot more at the beginning. For a long time, he would get nervous around guns, and even worse when someone was shot or hurt badly. He couldn’t hear the noises or see them lying there without being transported back to the night Uncle Ben died. He would freeze up, panic, in the middle of a fight, which always meant taking a few more hits. Anytime he stopped to think of it, just how fragile he was even as Spider-Man, or anyone was, it was hard for him to continue. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Aunt May alone, of her getting the call that he had died, especially fighting the way he did. It would ruin her. 

But it was never quite enough to stop him. For some reason, some crazy reason, out of everyone in the world, the universe chose him to become Spider-Man. And that’s not something you just run away from. It was a great responsibility, and it was his responsibility, whether he wanted it or not. 

…

The next morning, Mary Jane doesn’t even wait until lunch to talk to Peter. She takes her spot near the front of the bus, placing her backpack on the seat next to hers to save it. She waits, watching out the window until the bus gets to Peter’s stop. He’s waiting there, a hood drawn over his head and his hands stuffed in the pocket. As he gets on, she reaches up and tugs on his sleeve. “Hey,” she says.

He turns to her, a blank expression on his face, his eyes dark and tired. 

“Do you want to sit here?” she asks, a little taken aback, moving her bag to her lap. 

A tiny smile cracks his face. “Yeah, thank you.” He settles down and brings his backpack around to his front, hugging it and laying his head down on it facing her. “How are you?”

“Good, thanks again for last night. I think I needed that. Are you good? You look tired.”

“No problem,” he says warmly. “And um, it was a late night.” He wipes his face with one hand. “Is this going to be a regular thing? You saving a seat for me on the bus?”

Mary Jane smiles shyly, looking away. “If you want it to be.” Peter reaches over and takes her hand in his. She looks back up at him.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

They stay quiet for the rest of the ride to school, Peter’s hand resting on hers. His eyes drift shut, and Mary Jane isn’t sure whether or not he’s asleep, but he stirs as soon as the bus stops. 

“What’s your first class?” she asks as they walk together through the doors into the school building.

“Biology. You have English, right?”

Mary Jane squints. “You know my schedule?”

“Yeah, some parts,” Peter says, stuffing his hands back into his sweatshirt’s kangaroo pocket. He notices her staring at him, an eyebrow raised. “What? I can’t help that I’m observant!”

“I don’t know your schedule,” she says, laughing. They’re walking through the halls side by side, and she suddenly realizes everyone’s eyes on them. They’ll be the talk of the school by lunchtime, she just knows it. Grimacing slightly, she takes a small step back. 

Peter notices, a strange expression coming over his face. Of course he sees everyone watching them too, and knows why she stepped back. “Right. Gotta save your reputation, I get it.” He stops walking, letting her continue ahead without him. “Have a good day, Mary Jane. My classroom is back this way, anyway.”

“No, Peter, I didn’t-” 

But he’s already headed back they came. She keeps her eyes on his dark hoodie, but it disappears around the corner.

Seriously, Mary Jane? What is wrong with you? Cursing, she checks the time. She has ten minutes before class, and she usually likes to be the first one there. Before she can stop herself, she takes off down the hallway after Peter. She reaches the corner just as he’s about to turn the next one.

Bracing herself, she takes a quick count of all the people in the hallway, milling around their lockers. If she does this, there’s no turning back or avoiding the rumors.

“Peter!”

Time seems to slow, people turn to look at her, shocked. She knows what they’re all thinking. Is that Mary Jane? Did she just call after a boy, and Peter, of all boys?

But Peter turns around in an instant. She ignores the stares, striding down the hallway. “I’m not embarrassed to be with you.” She stops right in front of him.

…

Peter stares in disbelief at Mary Jane standing in front of him, basically proclaiming to the whole school their whatever this is. 

“I’m not embarrassed to be with you,” she repeats fiercely. “I’m sorry if it seemed like that. I’m just not used to this, but it’s not you.” 

He hasn’t felt right since last night, just aloof and anxious, unable to get the blood off his hands no matter how hard he scrubbed. It was gone the first time he washed, but he could still feel it, staining him. Was he the reason that man might be dead? Mary Jane’s stepping away from him had cut at him worse than it probably should have. He lets out a long breath and looks into her face. Everything she had told him in his room yesterday comes back to him. Her eyes are begging with him, believe me, trust me. 

He nods. “You know they’re all staring at you.”

She glances around, and everyone hurriedly gets back to what they were doing, slamming locket doors and clearing out of the hallway. “I know, but I had to tell you.”

“Sorry, I’m just feeling...off.” He raises his hands and drops them to his sides, unable to really explain. “It’s not you,” he adds quickly.

She laughs, looking down. “It’s not me, and it’s not you. What is it then? I told you what it is for me, probably more than you signed up for.”

“No, no, no, thank you. Thank you for that. I wish I could do something to help you, I-”

“You did, you are.” She steps closer to him and encloses him in a hug, wrapping her arms around him and running her hands down his back.

He closes his eyes, the anxiety draining away at her warmth. He holds her back and drops his head slightly to rest his chin against the top of her head. They stay like that for a moment, then pull apart. He looks down at her face, so open and trusting, so unlike her usual demeanor. In that moment, he considers it, just for a split second. What if she knew, what if she knew about me? 

No, she could never. No one could know. 

…


	9. Chapter 9

“Now pirouette!”

The music swells and the line of graceful dancers rise up on their toes, turning gently. Gayle sends an amused glance at Mary Jane, who stands on her tiptoes rather than on pointe and spins around dramatically, faster than the rest of the dancers. 

“You know I don’t know how to do this stuff,” she whispers fiercely at her laughing sister.

Gayle falls delicately into the next step of the sequence, bowing down before rising up, trailing her arms through the air. “And that’s why it’s so funny to watch you,” she whispers back. 

Mary Jane huffs, pretending to be more annoyed than she really is. She watches the dance instructor and tries to copy her movements, but knows she’s making a terrible fool of herself. When Mary Jane asked Gayle if she could come to ballet tonight, her sister’s eyes widened, but she only told her what to wear and what time they’d leave. Mary Jane had come down the stairs in leggings and a tight ballerina bun, and Gayle had burst out laughing, wheezing through tears that she looked so pretentious, so unlike herself. Mary Jane tried to be mad, but she ended up laughing harder than she had in a long time, taking her hair down and doing a simple low ponytail instead. 

They had talked and laughed the whole drive over, Gayle talking about her friends from her ballet class and relating funny moments. Mary Jane sat in the passenger seat watching her sister come alive with excitement and wondering how she’d been missing it lately.

As the instructor starts explaining the next step, Gayle grabs Mary Jane’s hand and drags her to the back of the group. “I already know this part. You have to tell me about Peter!”

Mary Jane sees herself blush in the full length mirrored walls. “I thought you wanted me to come to ballet so you could watch me humiliate myself.”

“Yeah, that, and,” Gayle tilts her head, “to get you to talk to me!”

Mary Jane rolls her eyes. “Show me how to do this.”

Gayle grabs her arms and pulls them up into position. “Hold them like this,” Gayle imitates the pose, “and put your feet together. No, heels together.” Mary Jane wobbles, grabbing onto her sister’s shoulder. 

“He invited me over to his house for dinner his aunt made. It was really cute, and she was really nice.”

“He lives with his aunt?” Gayle shifts her feet, gesturing for Mary Jane to do the same.

“Yeah, his parents are dead, and his uncle died a few years ago. I just found out, it’s really sad, and I didn’t know what to say.”

“That’s so awkward. Here, do a spin now.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t. He was really open about it, and we sat talking in his room for hours.” Mary Jane twirls, trying to keep her arms in position.

“Oh sure, you were talking,” Gayle snorts.

“Very nice, Mary Jane! I’m so glad you decided to join us today, Gayle is always talking about you,” the dance instructor glides over, smiling broadly. 

“We were,” Mary Jane whispers at Gayle, then slaps a smile on her face to the approaching woman. “Thank you!” The instructor moves on, complimenting the other girls in the class and kindly critiquing their form one by one. 

“Okay, what else about him? Why is he different?” Gayle slips back into their conversation and the next steps of the dance. “Do you wanna try a leap?” she asks, grinning.

“He’s just really genuine. And I really don’t think--”

Gayle takes off running down the studio and jumps up, legs suspended in a perfect split in midair, then lands lightly, spinning around. “You try!” she calls.

Mary Jane glances at the rest of the class watching goodnaturedly, smiling and waiting, then she launches herself after her sister, running down the shiny wood floor. She leaps up, feeling as if her form is a mirror image of Gayle’s, but knowing it’s probably way less impressive. But when she lands, all the girls in the room clap and laugh, shouting over each other, “Yes!” “That was so good!” “Good job!” Mary Jane can’t help the smile that comes to her face.

Gayle runs up and grabs her hands. “That was so good for a first try! Are you having fun?”

Mary Jane smiles sheepishly, looking away. “Yeeaaah.” 

“So when am I meeting Peter?”

“You already did, and you called him a ‘boy toy,’” Mary Jane says flatly, “and he remembers it, and has brought it up.”

“Whoops. What was I supposed to think? Bringing home new boys every week--” Gayle stops when she sees the look on Mary Jane’s face. “I’m teasing you, MJ!” 

Mary Jane looks down, then back up. “Yeah, well,” she recovers quickly, “maybe I’ll bring him over sometime to properly meet you and Mom.”

“Better make sure Dad won’t be around, I don’t even want to think about what he would do.” Gayle shudders playfully, but Mary Jane knows she’s being serious. “But yeah! Mom would probably like that.” Gayle suddenly grabs her shoulders and squeals. “Now we can go on double dates!”

Mary Jane pushes her away before she can tell herself not to. The shadow of a hurt look passes over Gayle’s face, but she doesn’t say anything. Mary Jane doesn’t know how to say she would hate going out with Timothy and Peter. “Yeah, maybe,” she says quickly.

But the moment is over, and Gayle turns her attention back to the class. 

…

Peter tugs at his collar, trying to get the stiff material to stand up and fold in the right spot. He should’ve taken up Aunt May on her offer to iron it before he left. “No, I’m sure it’s fine,” he had said. She had just smiled at him and put her hand on his shoulder, as if she knew he might come to regret his decision, but not saying so. The gesture made him feel young again.

The door opens before he can even knock, and Gayle’s face appears, strongly reminding him of the scene that took place the first time Peter came to Mary Jane’s house. This time, Gayle smiles brightly and pulls the door open, gracefully sweeping an arm to gesture him inside. “Come in!”

Oh, wow. 

If the perfectly stained hardwood floors and expensive looking furniture wasn’t enough to convince him of their wealth, the high ceilings and glittering chandelier does it. He knows his mouth has dropped slightly, but he can’t himself. A sweeping staircase with a wrapping railing stands to the left of him, disappearing up to a balcony-style landing, overlooking the lower level. Straight ahead is a pristine kitchen, with crystal white cabinets and stainless steel appliances. And to the right is a dimmed dining room, the table set and the food already waiting for them.

Gayle’s staring at him look at everything, a smug sort of expression on her face. Apparently this family likes to impress. Peter struggles to pull himself together. It’s not that he’s never seen a nice house before, but it’s another thing entirely to think of Mary Jane living here. And how she must see his house, an entire class below hers for sure.

A flash of movement distracts him, and he turns just as Mary Jane descends the staircase. His mouth drops even further. This is without a doubt her fairytale moment. She rests her hand lightly on the banister and smiles at him. She’s changed clothes since school and has a little red dress on. It’s a different shade than her hair, but somehow it fits her. The last thing Peter sees is her bare feet, and she laughs when she sees him notice.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs to greet her, feeling as if he should playfully bow or something, but she throws her arms around him. 

“You look beautiful,” he mutters into her hair, hugging her back. 

She pulls back and holds his shoulders at arm’s length. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Thanks for coming.”

“No, thank you for inviting me. Your house is…” Peter looks around again. “Way prettier than mine,” he finishes, laughing. “Good thing I invited you over first, otherwise I’d be too embarrassed.”

“Don’t be silly! You know I love your house.” Mary Jane turns around and sees Gayle watching them with an exaggerated grin on her face. “This is Peter, Gayle.”

“Hi, how are you?” Peter extends his hand, and Gayle lifts an eyebrow. 

“You don’t have to be so formal,” she laughs, but grabs it anyway. She has quite a grip.

“Dancer?” he asks. Her fluid gait and the way she holds herself gives her away.

Her eyes widen, and she turns to look at Mary Jane. “Did you tell him?”

“Lucky guess,” Peter shugs. Gayle squints at him, but she’s smiling. He can tell she’s already warming up to him.

“Let’s sit down,” Mary Jane suggests, leading them over to the table. “You can sit where you want. What would you like to drink?”

“Um, water is good.” Peter stays standing until Mary Jane comes back with two tall glasses of ice water. He waits until she sits down and then chooses a seat next to her. She smiles at that, but doesn’t say anything. 

Gayle picks up the salad. “Do you know where Mom is?”

“I told her about it, I thought she would be here.” Mary Jane furrows her brow. 

“I know she wouldn’t miss it,” Gayle reassures her. “But maybe we should start.”

Peter shifts his eyes to either sister as they talk. Mary Jane looks deflated, but she takes a sip of water. “Okay,” she agrees. 

Gayle hands the salad to Peter, and they begin eating in silence. Mary Jane keeps turning around to watch the door, as if her mother will walk in any moment. They fall into a comfortable conversation after a few minutes of tense silence. Gayle talks about her dance class and Mary Jane’s visit to her class a few days ago. Mary Jane laughs and talks along with them, but Peter can tell her mind is elsewhere. They work through the salad, then Gayle begins serving the lasagna. Mary Jane looks like she wants to ask them to wait, but she seems to know her mother isn’t going to show up anytime soon. 

Forty minutes later, they’ve finished the meal, and they sit in the kitchen on tall chairs at the island with bowls of ice cream. Mary Jane has finally broken out of her spell, and is sitting on the edge of her chair with her bare feet tucked underneath her, talking animatedly. She waves her spoon around to illustrate a story she’s telling about her and Gayle’s childhood. Peter gazes at her and adds another spoonful of sprinkles to his homemade sundae.

“No, no, no,” Gayle cuts in from Peter’s other side. “That’s not what happened, Mary Jane, and you know it!” She’s laughing, the contagious kind that makes Peter start before he even knows what’s funny. “It was you, you’re the one who hid the chocolate in the bathroom, and-” She takes a break to laugh. Mary Jane stares at her with a smile on her face, a suspended laugh.

“No, I didn’t, I-” Mary Jane interrupts her, but Gayle continues louder, talking over her. Peter’s caught in the middle, but he can’t say he minds. The room is filled with bright light from the kitchen’s overhead lights and ice cream toppings spread across the counter. He snaps his head back and forth between them as they battle out the details of the story. The three of them are laughing so hard it’s hard to talk, and when Peter puts his hand down on the counter to interject, asking what they’re even talking about anymore, he upsets the entire sprinkle container. They jump up, screaming louder than they need to.

“MJ! You’re stepping in it!” Gayle screams. 

Mary Jane holds up one foot, the bottom covered with rainbow sprinkles clinging to her bare skin. The sight makes them laugh harder, and Peter tries his best to scoop the mess back into the container. 

“MJ?” he asks, perking up. “Is that your nickname?”

“Kinda,” she answers. She wipes the sprinkles off her feet and starts cleaning the floor. Gayle kneels down next to her, helping her.

“How can something kinda be your nickname?” Gayle laughs. The coloring on the sprinkles has started melting and leaves rainbow streaks on their hands. 

“Okay, yes it is, but I don’t want everyone at school calling me that!” Mary Jane says.

Peter looks at her, tilting his head, pleading with his eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that!” she giggles. “Yes, you can call me MJ.”

He smiles, setting down the sprinkle container. “Okay, MJ.”

“Stop it! Don’t say it like that!” She laughs again. “How did you even do this?” Mary Jane gestures to the candies littering the floor.

“I-”

“He went like this!” Gayle imitates the gesture. It makes them crack up again, Mary Jane falling to her knees.

The sound of the front door opening startles them. Peter swings his head around, his senses on high alert. 

…

“Madeline, I wish you wouldn’t walk away when I’m talking to you,” an angry voice floats through the house. Mary Jane’s father.

Mary Jane and Gayle stand abruptly, dusting themselves off. Poor Peter freezes where he’s at, stunned at their reactions. The happiness of the evening is shattered in one tiny second. Mary Jane’s heart is racing, she turns to stare at Gayle. Is there time for Peter to get out? Gayle seems to be thinking the same thing. But no, they’re already headed this way. 

Mary Jane’s mother appears first, discomfort showing clearly on her face. She’s holding herself with her hands wrapped around her body. It takes her a moment to take in the scene in the kitchen: Mary Jane and Gayle standing with a pile of sprinkles between them, and Peter frozen at the tall island counter. Their ice cream is melting into soup, forgotten. Then realization dawns on her face.

“Oh, I am so sorry, I forgot about-” she rushes to say, then swiftly grabs a napkin. She kneels down and picks up the sprinkles. Mary Jane just watches her, numb. 

Her father enters the room, striding heavily. He notices his wife on the floor, and Mary Jane and Gayle standing stiffly, then his eyes rise to Peter. Mary Jane closes her eyes.

“Who is,” her father pauses, his voice strained, “this?” 

“Hi, sir. I’m P-” Peter steps forward, hand extended.

“Get out of my house,” her father says with malice. 

Peter falters, looking at Mary Jane. She can’t do anything but stare back at him. Stone-faced, Gayle leaves the kitchen, heading upstairs. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend anyone.” Peter tries again. Mary Jane just wishes he would stop. She’s burning with shame and fear. 

“I’ll walk you out,” she says quietly, taking Peter’s arm. As they walk past her father, he reaches out and yanks Peter backwards, sending him stumbling.

“You will not touch her,” he snarls. 

“Philip, stop,” her mother cries, putting a hand on his arm. He wrenches himself out of her grasp. 

Peter holds his hands up. “I’ll go.” His eyes dart from Mary Jane to her father and back again. He tries to hold eye contact with Mary Jane as he walks out of the kitchen, but she can hardly hold his gaze. She watches him walk to their front door, and as he steps through, he turns and looks at her again. I’m so sorry, she tries to tell him with her eyes. He gives her a sad smile and shuts the door.

…

Peter closes the front door behind him with a quiet bang. Mary Jane’s pained expression stays fixed in his mind as he unlocks Aunt May’s car. Anger is building in him faster than he can calm down. Mary Jane’s mother, frightened, scared. Gayle, leaving as soon as her father arrived. And Mary Jane... Peter pauses on the sidewalk, breathing out into the night. He stares at the cloudless sky, the streetlights glaring in the corner of his vision.

Hands shaking, he opens the car door.

_ (He turns around, marches up the walk and back into the house. The walls are red now, not light cream like they were. He walks right up to him, Mary Jane’s father. He looks down for a moment. His hands are covered in the red webbing of his suit. He reaches out and grips the man’s collar, dragging him out. “Get...out...of...this...house.” He pushes him into the street. “Leave them alone.” Mary Jane looks out of her bedroom window. She’s crying.) _

Peter starts the engine, pulling away from the curb.

…


	10. Chapter 10

Peter spins a web, connecting it to points on the corner of the building. Then he takes a thin line of webbing and spins it around itself, connecting each line. He’s sitting on the top of a tall building, legs dangling off the edge. The web he’s making starts taking form, looking like an intricate spider’s web. He connects more thin lines, growing it bigger and bigger. There’s no point to this, he’s just occupying his mind. He can’t stop thinking about Mary Jane and her family, and it’s making him crazy. 

He stands up and drags a hand through the web, destroying it. 

At school today, Mary Jane had saved him a seat on the bus again, but she didn’t mention what happened. Peter let her take the lead and direct the conversation. He understood if she didn’t want to talk about it. But it was hard for him to stay quiet, he wanted to say _something_, do _something_. 

Peter walks to the edge of the building, bouncing on his toes, then dives off. Wind rushes in his ears as he shoots a web out to catch himself. He sails above the city streets, over the gleaming lines of rush hour traffic that are catching the dying light. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, and it doesn’t matter. The whole city is his, just waiting for him.

…

Mary Jane steps over a crack in the sidewalk. Her hands are in the pockets of her coat, and the hood is up. She’s not necessarily cold, but she likes the illusion of staying hidden, secret. The sky is golden, turning to evening, and the north brings a stiff wind.

She thinks of Peter, and she thinks of her father. Why did that have to happen? And why now? Couldn’t she have had one nice day to introduce him to her family without a disaster, she thinks bitterly. She recalls the pure anger in her father’s face after Peter left, and the fear in her own heart. He wouldn’t strike her, would he? He didn’t, but she hadn’t missed the twitch in his right hand as he turned away. Her mother had followed him without a word, too ashamed to even look her daughter in the eye.

Mary Jane’s feet carry her down the street, deeper into the heart of the city. Anger boils in the pit of her stomach. She’s not thinking about where she’s going, past the point she usually stops and turns around. The streets turn narrower, more crowded and congested, and even though there’s not that many people out, Mary Jane begins to feel a little cramped. The people that walk past her always seem to brush up against her, no matter how much room there is on the street. She looks up to see the sky turning even darker, then she scans the street. She definitely should be getting back home. She heaves a sigh, not yet ready to give up her alone time, and then turns around, crossing the street to come back.

As she crosses, a man bumps up against her roughly, his arm slamming into her shoulder. She lets out a little noise of surprise as she’s pushed aside. She reaches over to pull her purse back up over her shoulder when her fingers clasp on nothing. 

“Hey!” she shouts, pointing. The man startles, breaking into a run. “He has my purse!” She takes off after him, the hood blowing off her head.

“Help me, please help, he stole my purse!” Mary Jane yells at the groups of people she passes, but no one stops to help. A few of them start laughing. More anger builds on knot already tightening in her stomach, and Mary Jane pushes herself harder. She’s almost caught up to him.

He darts to the left, and she follows him into an alley. A dead end. “Give me that back,” she spits, stalking over to the man. His lips curl into a smile. 

The fog seems to clear in Mary Jane’s head, and all of the sudden she realizes how foolish she’s being. Her anger made her forget to think. She stops cold.

He advances towards her, that same sick smile twisted on his lips. 

_I am so stupid._

“You know what,” she says, backing up. “Keep it. Yeah, go ahead, it’s yours.”

“I think I want something else instead,” he says in a low voice. 

Fear laces through her body, paralyzing her. He lunges forward, his hand tightening around her wrist. She opens her mouth and screams. The loudest, highest-pitched scream she’s ever uttered.

The man doesn’t even have time to react before he’s suddenly reeling backwards away from her.

Mary Jane curses. _Did I do that?_ Then she sees him. Spider-Man. He’s in action, kicking the man away from her as she huddles down in the dark alley, folding in on herself. Her heart is racing so fast she thinks it’s going to stop altogether.

Spider-Man wrenches the purse away from the man’s hands and tosses it in her direction. It lands a few feet in front of her, but she can’t even bring herself out of her crouch to grab it.

The man pulls an ugly-looking knife out from his waist, and tosses it from hand to hand, eyeing Spider-Man. But Spider-Man doesn’t even blink. At least, she thinks he probably isn’t blinking, judging from the way he easily falls into a stance, keeping his weight moving from leg to leg. Transfixed, she watches. The man strikes, but Spider-Man dodges so quickly it looks like the other man is moving in slow motion. In seconds, the knife is clanging on the cracked pavement, and Spider-Man has the man on the ground. Mary Jane squints to see what he’s doing. It looks like he’s tying the man’s hands behind his back with webbing. Then he pulls a phone out from _somewhere_, and quickly types on it for a second. 

Another moment later, the phone’s away, and Spider-Man is coming towards her, slowly with one hand out in front of him. On the way, he stoops to grab her bag and holds it out to her. Shaking, she takes it, grasping it tightly in her hands. The whole thing must’ve happened in under a minute. 

“Are you harmed?” he asks softly, offering his hand to help her up. Normally, she wouldn’t take it, but right now she doesn’t trust her legs. He holds her hand in a nice grip, tight enough to support her as she stands, trembling.

“Thank you.” She doesn’t know what else to say. She can’t stop looking at him, trying to see past the mask. Now that he’s here in front of her, he’s very real. Who _is_ Spider-Man?

“You should get out of here, it’s not safe for you to be out here alone.”

And why does his voice sound strange? Of course, he’d want to disguise it, so no one could tell who he was. Of course. Mary Jane shakes her head. “Thank you,” she says again. But she stands frozen in place. 

“Come on, M-” he clears his throat. “Come.” 

She tilts her head, but starts walking, holding her purse so tightly her fingers start to ache. She looks behind her, and Spider-Man is watching her. A warm tingle travels down her back. She’s safe, if he’s watching. 

A block later, Mary Jane turns around again, and he’s gone. But the feeling is still there, and she’s sure he’s looking out for her. 

…

He can’t help himself. Peter watches her the whole way home, mostly from the sky. He’s shaking too, almost as much as her. What was she doing in that part of town after dusk? What that man would've done to her… Peter grits his teeth and tightens his jaw. He can’t think of it. 

He watches until he sees her run up her front walk and let herself in the front door, closing and locking it behind her. He stays then a little longer, waiting until one of the upstairs lights turns on. Mary Jane’s bedroom. Her silhouette flits through the room, making a shadow in the window, even with the curtains drawn. 

Finally relaxing, Peter hops off the top of the streetlight he was poised on. Breathing heavily, he lifts the edge of his mask just up over his mouth to breathe in a deep gulp of air. He crouches down, hands on his knees as he breathes deeply. What else is going on out there? He can’t even protect the girl he likes. Who else is being hurt, stalked, killed because he isn’t there to help them?

A movement catches his eye, and he whips his head up. Mary Jane’s curtain is flung aside, and she’s staring out the window, at him. Oh, shoot. Peter scrambles to pull his mask back over his face. _She wouldn’t recognize my mouth, would she?_ She opens the window and sticks her head out. 

“Hey,” she calls softly, but the sound carries across the quiet street. He stares back. “Thanks for making sure I got home safe.”

He dips his head. She looks so beautiful, with her tousled hair and arms leaning against the sill. He waits for her to close the window and duck back inside, but she stays there staring. He doesn’t look away.

“Don’t you have other people to save?” she asks after a minute. 

“Yeah, maybe.” He forgets to disguise his voice, and the words come out soft and vulnerable. He wishes he could go to her, to tell her who he is. What would it be like to have someone? That he could really talk to, really tell _everything_ to. He takes a few steps closer to her house, stepping up over the curb.

Mary Jane leans further out of the window, looking down at him as he moves closer. “Who-” she stops. _Who are you?_ He knows she wants to ask. 

“It’s me,” Peter whispers, quietly enough that she won’t hear him. It feels good to say it out loud.

A siren pulls him out of the moment, and he feels his phone buzz with a police alert. She seems to notice the change in his stiff posture, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, nodding. He doesn’t want to leave, but he can’t stay either. He might do something crazy, like tell her everything. 

“Stay safe,” he says, lowering his voice and trying to make it believable. He looks at her one last time, then takes off running down the street. After a few steps, he shoots a web at a light post and glides away.

He feels a tug at his heart as he moves farther and farther away from her. He imagines her closing the window and laying down to sleep, still shaking like she was when he found her. Then he imagines her shaking like that when her father came home, and the expression on her face. The next time he puts his hand out to release a web, he realizes he’s shaking too. 

He stops in the middle of the street. The suburban houses on either side of him lay in neat rows: a runway into the clear sky. 

Maybe the police have got this one. He looks back. 

…

Mary Jane leans back inside her bedroom, closing the window softly. She watches Spider-Man run down the street until he disappears, swinging on his spiderwebs. She doesn’t think she’d ever seen something so strange and yet intriguing. Why does she feel a pull towards him? After all, what kind of man would run around the city interfering in police business? But he had saved her, and now she knows all the heroic stories she’d heard about him were true. 

“What are you doing?” Mary Jane turns to see Gayle passing by her room, looking at her quizzically.

“What are _you_ doing?” Mary Jane counters, clasping her hands together to keep them from trembling. 

“Wondering what you’re doing with your window wide open.” Gayle steps inside. “You’re shaking. What happened?”

A mirthless laugh falls from Mary Jane’s lips. “You would never believe me, even if I told you.”

Her sister folds her arms. “Try me.”

“I met Spider-Man.” 

Gayle sighs and stares up at the ceiling. “MJ, I’m not-”

“I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Even if that were true, you shouldn’t go near him. He’s got to be psychotic; anyone scared to show his face must have something to hide.” 

“Yeah, his identity. He’s doing good here. He _saved me_.”

“Don’t delude yourself!” Gayle raises her voice above a whisper. 

Mary Jane glares at her. “First of all shut up, Dad will hear you, and second of all shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“What makes you so sure he’s the good guy here?”

Mary Jane laughs darkly. “Do you hear yourself? This is ridiculous. Can I just tell you what happened?”

Gayle folds her arms again and stares at her, one eyebrow arched.

“I was walking downtown--” Mary Jane begins.

“Seriously? Don’t you think that you shouldn’t be doing that alone?”

“_Gayle_.”

“Sorry.”

“I was _turning_ back,” Mary Jane looks pointingly at Gayle, who nods her head, “and a man stole my purse as I was walking past him.” She decides to leave out her stupid decision to go chasing after him. “I screamed and asked people to help, but no one was listening. Then he started coming at me.”

“And Spider-Man swooped in and saved you?”

“_Yes_. He did,” Mary Jane says fiercely. “You seriously think I’m lying about this?”

Gayle tips her head thoughtfully. “No, I guess not. How tall was he?”

“What?”

“You saw him up close. Is he tall?”

“Um,” Mary Jane thinks back, trying to picture him. “I guess, but not super tall. He was thin, athletic. He has to be a young guy.”

“And he gave you your purse back?”

Mary Jane rolls her eyes and points to her bag laying on her bed. “No, he took it.”

Gayle ignores her sarcasm. “I’m just asking you to be careful.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just mad that you’re wrong and Spider-Man isn’t a villain like you keep trying to pretend he is.”

Her sister huffs. “Fine. But don’t do something stupid like that again. You can’t trust a random man to save you.” She puts her hand on Mary Jane’s doorknob, then turns around. “I’m sorry about what happened the other night. With Dad.” 

Mary Jane looks down.

“It sucks that it had to happen like that. I like Peter. I hope it didn’t ruin anything.”

“Yeah, me too,” she says softly. Gayle looks at her sadly and closes the door behind her.

Mary Jane holds her hand out in front of her. It’s not shaking as much anymore. She flops down on her bed. The thing with Peter wasn’t ruined, was it? At school, did he seem distant? He seemed resigned, he seemed ready to let her guide the conversation and to steer it away from anything related to her family. But maybe she should’ve talked about it and tried to gauge how he felt about it. 

Worry starts to prickle in her stomach. What if he decided after seeing everything for himself that she _was_ too much trouble? 

Something clinks against her window. A small rock? Mary Jane freezes. She sits up in bed, staring at the window. A few seconds pass silently, her heart beating fast. Another rock hits her window, pinging off harmlessly and falling to the ground. She stands up, staring more intently. Inexplicable fear rises in her. 

By the time a third rock lands, she approaches the window. It’s much darker now. A figure stands below in her front yard. She squints, moving closer. Taking a deep breath, she raises the window and sticks her head out for the second time that night. He looks up, waving his arm. 

It’s Peter.

Her breath leaves her in a rush, relief flooding her. She smiles and waves back. 

Peter gestures at himself and then up at her. A request to come up. 

She nods. He grins and walks forward, out of her view. 

Wait. He can’t come through the front door. If her father saw him, she didn’t even want to think about what he might do. She turns to run out of her room and stop him.

“Hey.” Peter’s there, somehow balanced outside her window, one knee on the sill with his hands clinging to the frame.

“Geez, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Mary Jane throws her hands over her heart. “How did you get up here?”

Peter slides his feet through and lands on her floor, straightening fluidly. She squints at him. “You do this kind of thing often?” she guesses. 

“Huh?” Peter shrugs. “Oh, not this exact thing.”

“You’re even stranger than I thought,” she murmurs. Peter just smiles, running one hand through his hair and making it stick up. 

She moves towards him to smooth it down, then stops partway to him. She’s suddenly very aware of him in her room, her private space.

“Mary Jane, I-” Peter pauses. There’s something different about his voice. It’s thick, like he has something he needs to say. 

She looks at him, trying to see past the masquerade of nonchalance he always puts up. He’s here tonight for something. Her insecurities come flooding back to her. Has he come to tell her he can’t do this? Something in her heart breaks down. 

“Peter, I get it. If this is something you can’t do, can’t handle, it’s okay. You didn’t sign up for this, and I’m not-”

“Stop.” His voice rings out. He’s speaking quietly, but it sends a chill through her.

She stares at him, and he stares back. She isn’t sure what emotion she’s feeling, but it’s so intense that it hurts. It only lasts a moment before he’s striding towards her, a broken expression in his eyes. His hands come up to cup her face, and a tingle goes down her back at his touch. An instant later, his lips are on hers. She closes her eyes. 

She’s kissed a lot of boys, but it never felt like _this_. Peter’s touch, his hands on her face and his lips moving against hers, is pure fire. He’s telling her something, something that can’t be said with words. She brings her hands up and runs them down his sides, feeling the toned muscles through his shirt. He sighs softly and moves closer to her until his body is pressing against hers. 

They break apart to breathe, their faces so close they share the same air. He shifts one hand to her chin, tilting her head up to look at him, and the other he brushes down her arm. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. He leans forward and kisses her again, lightly. “I signed up for _you_, Mary Jane.”

She can’t find the right thing to say, so she wraps her arms around him and pulls him in again, her heart pounding in the best way.

…


End file.
